The Baseball Bat Battalion 02: Quiescent
by SCS12
Summary: Effervescent sequel. Stiles awakens to find his husband yelling. Then Derek disappears; leaving Stiles to deal with a regiment of supernatural soldiers, a plethora of exorcised ghosts, and an angry President. When his investigations take him to California, he is prepared: upending werewolf packs as only he can. He might even track down his wayward husband, if he feels like it.
1. Chapter 1

**Changeless AU by Gail Carriger. Requires zero knowledge of the book (and may be better without such knowledge).**

* * *

"They are what?"

Derek Hale was yelling. Loudly. This was not new.

Stiles Stilinski-Hale, shah to the President, America's secret preternatural weapon extraordinaire, blinked awake slowly.

"Wasn't me," he immediately said, without having the barest hint of an idea as to what his husband was yelling about. Of course, it usually _was_ him, but he didn't want to confess right away. Stiles pressed a pillow over his head and squirmed down under the blankets.

"What do you mean _gone_?"

"Well, I didn't tell them to go. Can't you argue outside?" Stiles whined into his pillow. He wondered who 'they' were for a moment, before realizing that Derek wasn't yelling at him at all.

Stiles sighed heavily and rolled toward the yelling. He cracked an eyelid open only to have his husband's naked back fill his field of vision. He contemplated levering himself up to see more, but as Derek was distracted and the air outside the covers cold, Stiles thought better of it.

"How wide of a radius? It can't have extended this far."

Stiles finally noticed that Derek had a phone pressed to his ear. "All of Manhattan? Well, have the consulted all the daylight agents?"

Derek sighed and hung up the phone. He tossed the blankets aside and climbed out of bed.

Stiles took a moment to appreciate his husband's backside. It may be far too early to be awake, but it was never too early to admire something of that caliber.

Derek began to get ready for the day – or at least Stiles assumed, as he could hear splashing noises coming from the bathroom – and yelled orders at Boyd, his head claviger.

Derek finally reappeared in Stiles's sight wearing only a long coat.

Derek seemed to remember his husband for the first time. Stiles feigned sleep.

Derek shook him gently till Stiles finally pretend to wake up.

"Stiles, sorry to wake you up."

Stiles glared at his husband. This early evening wakeup wouldn't have been so horrible if he hadn't been kept up half the day by exuberant and lengthy – although very pleasant – exertions. However, Stiles hated it when Derek apologized for anything. It meant he was up to something.

"I have to run to the office early. Something happened." From the coat and no shoes, Stiles assumed Derek would actually be running – in wolf form. It must be urgent.

"Are you meeting with the Shadow Council tonight?" Derek asked.

Stiles paused for a moment to remember what day it was. Was it Sunday? "Yes."

"It will be interesting," Derek goaded, but would say no more. Stiles glared. He hated waiting for information.

Derek kissed him thoroughly and turned to leave.

"Pack!" Derek bellowed into the hallway.

Derek and Stiles's bedroom took up a good portion of the top floor of Newark Castle. Despite this, Derek's yell could be heard throughout most of the manor, even to the kitchen where the clavigers were drinking their evening coffee.

The Newark clavigers worked hard during the day, looking after sleeping werewolves. Many also had other jobs, some even with BUR. Their coffee break was often a much needed respite. Despite this, Derek's yell had them up and moving quickly. The house quickly became a hub of activity.

Sighing heavily, Stiles rolled out of bed and picked up a pair of boxers that had been flung across the room. He and Derek had negotiated a temporal relationship with most clothes in that Stiles could really only wear them out of bed. Derek could be _very_ persuasive when he wanted to be. Stiles had never been one to sleep in the nude every night, but was slowly getting used to it. This may be because he lived with a pack of werewolves and was adapting to their constant nudity – by necessity, if not preference. Half the pack was actually away in the Middle East somewhere fighting for the military. Stiles supposed one day there would be even more naked men wandering about. He'd never be able to invite his dad over. Erica would like it, though.

A knock sounded on the door. After a long pause, the door was slowly pushed open and a dark haired girl peered in. Noting Derek's absence (having interrupted him and Stiles one too many times), she walked in.

"Hello, Stiles."

"Hi, Allison. Anything new on the schedule today?"

Allison had been an unexpected wedding gift from the Manhattan Hive. Stiles initially tried to protest at the "gifting" of a human, but Allison just smiled sardonically and said, "I told you they would try to get rid of me." She had immediately petitioned Derek to become a new claviger, figuring immortality was immortality, whether after vampire's bite or a werewolf's. Derek acquiesced. Not even he wanted to refuse a gift from the Manhattan Hive. He still had to deal with them on a regular basis, after all.

Allison, being the only female claviger and despite her strength, too slight to actually deal with a werewolf on the full moon, became Stiles's personal assistant instead.

"Nope. It's a Sunday. Nothing ever happens on a Sunday."

Allison was going through his closet at this point. Despite Stiles's protests that he had been dressing himself for _years_, the minute Allison started as his personal assistant, she began picking out his clothes each day. Stiles did have to admit he looked a lot more put together. Even Laura had complimented him once or twice.

Stiles went downstairs to grab coffee and breakfast. The school semester had ended the week before and Stiles was suddenly fully on a supernatural schedule – breakfast at twilight and dinner a few hours before dawn. It was the summer break and he had no classes to teach for a few months, so at least he wouldn't have to try waking up earlier in the day for a while.

He finished in bagel and made his way to the front of the house to leave.

Only to discover what all the noise had been about this morning. Outside on the front law there were a number of camping tents. They all looked very sturdy and Stiles was sure they were top of the line – although having never done the camping thing himself, he really didn't know what to look for. Everyone milling about the tents had the air of military about them, although none were dressed in uniform.

Stiles walked back inside and yelled, "Boyd!" He was not quite as loud as his husband, but knew Boyd would come all the same. He did.

"Boyd," Stiles was trying to be calm. "_why_ are there tents in the front yard?"

Boyd, as always, looked calm. As the lead claviger, it was part of his job description, Stiles supposed.

"He didn't warn you?"

"No, _he did not_." Stiles was irritated.

"Well, the rest of the pack has returned." Boyd gestured to the tents in front of them.

"Boyd, this would indicate the Newark pack was enormous. No pack in the world is quite this large." Stiles said this very slowly, as if to a dim child. Boyd didn't seem to notice – or more likely – to care.

"Well, the pack brought their units with them." Boyd also said this slowly, in the same sort of tone. Stiles was not amused.

"Don't they need to all go home to their families or whatever?"

"Well, you know we have a lot more of our pack volunteer for duty that normal packs. They have to split us up. So each pack member brings their unit back for a week or two before they go home. Builds camaraderie."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Does this camaraderie have to occur in the front yard?"

"Of course."

"But _why_?" Stiles was starting to sound petulant, he knew, but he could barely get to his car – to any car – there were so many tents out front.

"This is where we have always camped," said a new voice.

Stiles whirled to glare at the man who interrupted them. The man was tall and muscled, although not exceptionally big. He wore formal clothes, rather than the casual tshirts of the rest of the group on the front lawn. His blonde hair was expertly gelled and he had piercing blue eyes. Stiles new the type: educated, money, and blue blood.

"Well, not anymore. We can't even get out of the front." Stiles said, turning back to Boyd.

"Unacceptable," said the blonde man, moving closer.

Boyd seemed unable to decide whom to obey.

Stiles ignored the man. "If they must camp here, have them move around back."

Boyd turned to inform those in the yard, but the man stopped him.

"This is ridiculous." The man almost snapped at Stiles. "The units always camp in the front yard. It's much easier than the grounds."

"Now," Stiles snapped at Boyd.

"Stay were you are, Boyd," instructed the man.

They glared at each other.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Major Jackson Whittemore."

Stiles snorted. What a douchy name.

"Well, Major Whittemore, do not interfere with this. Boyd knows to follow my instructions."

"Oh, are you a new butler? I was not informed that Derek's new husband – Stiles, I think – had changed anything like that. You're a little young, aren't you?"

Stiles was going to correct his assumption, but it was apparent that Whittemore liked the sound of his own voice and he continued speaking.

"Don't worry about this. It is all very normal. Neither Derek nor Stiles will be upset about the camping arrangements." Stiles knew he was being dismissed.

"_Everything_ that occurs around here does concern me." Stiles really didn't have time for this, but he needed these men off the front lawn.

Major Jackson Whittemore gave a blinding smile. And a leer. "Not this. I really don't have time for this, but if you'd like to 'talk' later, maybe that can be arranged."

That. _That_ was definitely a leer.

"Are you _flirting_ with me?" Stiles couldn't believe this asshole. Boyd looked worried. Stiles, who really wished he had a baseball bat, pulled his arm back and punched Whittemore in the nose. The brief touch was not enough to turn Whittemore human for long and the shock of being punched made him completely ignore the half-second he was given a little extra life. It did nothing to Whittemore, but Stiles thought he might have broken his hand.

Everyone in the front of the house stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the man who had just punched their third in command, Newark Pack Gamma.

Whittemore's eyes shifted and flashed a wholly supernatural blue color. He made to punch back, but Boyd jumped on his back, wrapping his arms and legs around Whittemore's limbs and trapping them to his sides.

The newcomers looked on in shock. For a claviger to attack a member of the pack was unheard of – it was grounds for instant expulsion. Those pack members who had been around though, immediately came to help Stiles, who was defenseless against a werewolf.

Whittemore shook Boyd off and tossed him across the front porch. Stiles glared and went to check on Boyd, noting that he was unconscious, but still breathing. "I would stop, _Jackson_." Stiles spat out in icily.

"Or not." The man began stripping and then quickly changed. It was much quicker and quieter than Stiles had expected, which meant this man was older and more experienced than he acted. Even if Stiles was able to touch him and turn him back, he was stronger than Stiles was. Stiles did pause a moment to recognize that he was a beautiful wolf: large and pure white with glowing blue eyes.

Just as the white wolf charged, another wolf leapt forward. The newer wolf was smaller than Whittemore and sandy colored. Despite his size, the sandy colored wolf was much quicker and it only took moments before he had Whittemore's throat in a death grip.

The white wolf rolled to present his stomach in submission. Both wolves changed back to human.

"What the hell? I didn't challenge _you_. We settled that years ago. I am within my right to discipline misbehaving clavigers." Whittemore started yelling. Stiles was going to have a talk with Derek about what constituted "discipline" for clavigers. They were only human after all, even if they did want to become werewolves.

"Unless one of them is not a claviger," replied Chris Argent, long-suffering Beta of the Newark Pack.

Whittemore looked nervous. His face lost most of its arrogance. Stiles thought he was much more attractive this way.

"Major Whittemore, Newark Pack Gamma, allow me to introduce you to Dr. Stiles Stilinski-Hale, curse-breaker, and your Alpha's mate." Argent said very formally.

Stiles disliked just about every way he had to be introduced formally. He only liked to be called "doctor" when he was teaching, if only to give him some credibility, as he was sure he still looked like he was 20. He was not a huge fan of the term "curse-breaker", although that was mostly because it made him sound like Indiana Jones and he never got to do anything that fun. He especially hated "Alpha's mate". He was just fine being introduced on his own merits, rather than on the merits of who he married, _thank you_. At least nobody other than Derek new his real name. Well, Argent probably did, but new better than to use it.

Whittemore looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry – er – Dr. Stilinski-Hale."

Stiles's anger had subsided quite a bit by this point. "Oh god, please don't call me that. Stiles. Stiles is fine."

Whittemore stuck his hand out formally and Stiles shook it, feeling rather silly. That done, Whittemore turned to Argent.

"Why wasn't Derek here to meet us? I have urgent business to discuss."

Argent shrugged, but his face and demeanor indicated that it was better not to push on this subject. It was the nature of the Gamma to criticize, but the Beta's to support. "Urgent BUR matters. What happened?"

"We experienced something odd on our way back. I'll have to explain it to him later. I will get the units started moving everything to the back." Without another look in his direction, Whittemore turned towards the men on the front lawn and started issuing orders.

Stiles smiled, pleased that he had won that battle at least.

Argent turned to leave, but Stiles stopped him. "Thank you for intervening. I really didn't expect him to attack, although I guess I should have after I punched him."

Argent looked at him puzzled. "Did you think I couldn't protect you in Derek's place?"

It was true Stiles hadn't really expected that either, but it was more that he hadn't expected Argent to be there at all. "No, I just thought you'd be at BUR for whatever is going on."

"No, Derek sent me to meet the units." Argent replied.

"He did? And he didn't bother to tell me they were coming?"

Argent realized he might have gotten Derek in a bit of trouble. "The dewan ordered the return of all units with werewolves. I guess he thought you knew."

Stiles suddenly remembered something about that be discussed during a Shadow Council meeting a few weeks before. Oops.

Boyd had finally woken up and seemed to be okay. Stiles was going to take him by an emergency room on the way to his meeting anyway. He had been knocked unconscious, after all.

Loading Boyd into his car, Stiles was finally on his way to New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek Hale was a large man who made for a very large wolf. He was bigger than any natural wolf could hope to be. Regardless, those traveling the road this early evening could not see him. Derek was moving fast – faster than most cars, especially as he did not have to stop to dodge around traffic – and he boasted a dark, black coat. Other than his red eyes, he faded into the shadows.

Derek found himself enjoying the run, even if it was a short one. Well, until just as he entered the city, when he abruptly lost his wolf form. One minute he was dashing on four paws and the next he was crashing to his knees on cement.

He looked around, worried. But Stiles was nowhere near and he was pretty damn certain he had left him safe, if fuming, back at the castle. No other preternaturals were registered in the country. What had happened?

As he moved to get up, he realized his knees were bleeding. And were not healing. Such scrapes ought to close before his eyes. Instead, blood dripped onto the concrete.

Derek tried to change back, reaching into himself to find the part of him that was pure wolf. Nothing. He walked back a few paces and was suddenly able to change again. He faced a problem – he needed to get to the office, but would only be able to do so naked.

Normally, when there was a chance he would have to change publicly, Derek carried a coat with him. Today, though, he thought he would make it all the way to BUR's offices before he would have to change. He retreated behind a pile of crates in an alley. He would bet the vampires weren't growing any fangs tonight either. Morrell, queen of the Manhattan hive, must be frantic. Derek grimaced. That meant he'd probably be getting a visit from Ennis later. It was going to be a long night.

Derek skulked through back alley ways, trying desperately to get to his office unseen. He almost managed, until he was spotted by a very unexpected individual.

A young man wearing a fit tshirt, tight jeans, and a short leather jacket materialized in front of Derek.

"Derek? What are you doing here? And why are you naked?"

"Scott," Derek growled.

"How's Stiles doing?" Scott ignored the growl. Scott was a notorious drone in New York City and his vampire master, Laura, was one of Stiles's best friends. Much to Derek's annoyance. So, come to think of it, was Scott. Last time the drone has visited Newark Castle, he and Stiles had spent hours playing some sort of video game.

Derek ignored his questions. "Run into that bar and get a coat for me of some kind."

Scott looked at him with an amused grin. "I'd offer mine, but it's too short. I don't think it would help. It probably wouldn't fit across your shoulders anyway."

Derek growled. Scott finally nodded, still trying to keep from laughing aloud, and vanished. A moment later he returned with a long trench coat.

"So, what do you know about this?" Derek asked. Scott may look young and dress like he did nothing but drink and party, but he, and his vampire master even more so, always knew what was going on around the city.

"A number of military units returned yesterday. All came in through the city."

Derek stopped him. "Not that – the mass exorcism."

"Oh, _that_. That is why I was waiting for you."

"Of course you were," sighed Derek.

Walking together, Derek and Scott headed towards the BUR offices.

* * *

After dropping Boyd off, Stiles finally arrived at the meeting of the Shadow Council.

The Secret Service guards were expecting him. Stiles was always there two hours after dark on Sundays and Thursdays. He was one of the least problematic of the regular visitors. He had even made the effort to learn all the guards' names.

"You are late," said one guard, check his neck for bite marks and his laptop bag for any illegal electronics.

"I know. I know." Stiles sighed heavily.

The dewan and the potentate were already waiting on him. The President was not there. He was rarely there. He more often than not joined them by video or telephone. He usually only called in to hear the results of any debate and to make final decisions.

As Stiles made his apologies, the dewan leered at him. The dewan _always_ leered at him. Stiles had never quite been able to shake the "bad-touch" vibe that the dewan had about him, although he knew the dewan was a well-respected omega.

The potentate was a different matter. While the dewan was creepy, he didn't seem to actively dislike Stiles, other than for form's sake or to annoy Derek. The potentate, though, _loathed_ him, and Stiles was unsure why.

Stiles ignored this. "So, do either of you know what is going on in the city tonight?"

"You do not know, shah?" sneered the potentate.

"Of course. I'm just wasting everyone's time by asking." Stiles knew he should work on his sarcastic tone, but it wasn't going to happen today.

"Neither of us look anything different?" the dewan gave Stiles a lascivious smile. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Why are you humoring him? Obviously he _must_ have something to do with it." The potentate glared at Stiles.

Stiles, still staring at the dewan, finally realized what was wrong. He had no hint of a canine and his eyes looked entirely human. Turning to the potentate, he noticed that the vampire had no fangs.

"You're both, well, human?" Stiles wasn't entirely sure how to put it delicately.

The potentate rolled his eyes. Stiles was sure it was a bad habit he'd picked up recently – probably from Stiles himself – since he had previously always seemed far too put together and aristocratic for something as mundane as an eye roll.

"Every vampire and werewolf in Manhattan." The dewan was calmer than Stiles expected.

"And the ghosts?" Stiles asked, frowning.

"That's how we know the extent. Every ghost tethered in the area has disappeared. They've all been exorcised." The potentate was watching him closely. He would assume Stiles had something to do with this. Stiles was, after all, the only creature with the power to exorcise ghosts, at least in this country.

"Well my husband can attest that I spent the day asleep at Newark Castle." Stiles responded, blushing slightly. He did try to keep work and personal life separate, although he felt this required he mention it.

The potentate stood. For the first time in hundreds of years he was human. He must be terrified, thought Stiles. To face mortality after so long. Not to mention that one of the hives was in the afflicted zone – which meant a queen was in danger. Vampires, even roves, would do almost anything to protect a queen. "Your werewolf husband who sleeps through daylight? And whom I highly doubt you touch while you sleep?"

"Of course I don't!" Stiles was annoyed. Touching Derek throughout the night every night would not only cause him to age, but would put him at risk for attack.

"So you admit you could have snuck out?" asked the potentate.

"Really, do we need to interrogate him?" the dewan stepped in. Stiles was surprised.

"Look, how could I have done this? I have to touch you in order to give you life. I have to touch a dead body to exorcise a ghost. How could I manage to effect an area this large?"

Neither the dewan nor potentate had an answer. It was possible neither wanted to contemplate Stiles having such a power. They began to debate the merits of a new weapon or scientific advancement that could cause it, but none of the three members could think of what could create so much life in a concentrated area.

Finally out of ideas, they began to gather their things to leave. Suddenly the dewan rounded on Stiles. "I almost forgot. Get your husband to keep his damn packs under control, would you?"

"Packs? I was under the impression he just had the one." Stiles stared at the dewan strangely.

"His other pack. The California one – Beacon Hills," said the dewan. "A few of them were with one of the units and there was a fight. I thought your husband might want to help out."

Stiles frowned. "I doubt it."

"They lost their Alpha out there, you realize."

Stiles's frown deepened. "No, I didn't know." He wondered if Derek knew. It was unusual for an Alpha to survive the loss of his pack and he had never managed to get Derek to explain why he left California.

Stiles left the meeting trying to decide how best to broach the subject.

* * *

Stiles was awakened in the early morning by his husband. It only took Stiles moments to waken fully. He didn't need much incentive.

Derek ripped Stiles's tshirt off. "I loathe this article of clothing." The shirt was thrown across the room.

Before he could see where it landed, Derek moved in for a full, all-absorbing kiss – pressing the full length of his body on top of Stiles.

Stiles then remembered that he was annoyed.

"Derek, I'm really very angry with you." He panted slightly and tried to remember why.

Derek bit down lightly on the side of his neck. Stiles let out a small whimper.

"What have I done this time?" he paused before starting to nibble on Stiles's ear.

Stiles writhed and tried to move away. This only caused Derek to groan and become more insistent.

"You left me with what looks like half the military camping in the front yard," Stiles finally managed to say.

"Mmmm," was the only reply.

"And there was a Major Jackson Whittemore to deal with," said Stiles.

Derek pulled his head up. "You make him sound like some sort of disease."

"You've met him, _right_?"

Derek snorted. "Argent was supposed to tell you all about that."

"Yes! Argent had to tell me!"

"Argent said you handled it fine."

Stiles made to continue the conversation.

"Stiles, shut up."

"But – "

Derek suddenly remembered there was only one good way to shut up his husband. He bent forward and sealed their mouths together. For some time after that, the only sounds coming from Stiles were moans and heavy breathing.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles lay, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. He barely felt like he could move after their latest round of activity. Suddenly he stiffened. "_What_ did you say?"

A soft snore greeted his question. Werewolves didn't appear dead during the day like vampires, but they did sleep very heavily.

Not _this_ werewolf, though, if Stiles had anything to say about it.

"What ended?"

It might have been the preternatural contact or it might have been Stiles straddling Derek in a particularly pleasant way, but Derek woke up.

With his husband's face peering down at him, Derek took a moment to wonder why he thought to marry him. Then Stiles slid down, adding just the right amount of pressure to his lower body and licked behind Derek's ear just in the spot he couldn't get enough of. Ah, yes – that was why, Initiative and ingenuity.

Stiles stopped. "Well?"

And manipulation.

His weary eyes gave a half-hearted glare at Stiles. "Does your mind never stop?"

Stiles gave him a look. "Well, you seem to stop it well enough for an hour or two."

"Is that it? What do you say we try for three?"

Stiles grinned and batted Derek's arm away as it snaked around his waist. "Aren't you supposed to be too old for this – or at least too tired?"

"Rude," snorted Derek. "I'm only just over two hundred. Barely a cub."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but wouldn't allow himself to be distracted again. "So, _what ended_?"

Derek sighed. "The mass preternatural effect stopped around three a.m. All the supernaturals returned to normal, except for the ghosts. It seems all ghosts were – well – actually exorcised for good."

"So that's it? Crisis averted?" Stiles was disappointed. Summer months could get tedious. He needed something to do.

"Probably not. We need to figure out what actually happened. Everyone knows _something_ happened and everyone wants to know exactly what it is. We have to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Including the President," interjected Stiles.

"The government lost several excellent ghost agents in the mass exorcism. Plus, the vampires are in an uproar."

Stiles patted his head sympathetically. Derek continued. "You know Ennis had the nerve the threaten me. _Me_?"

"I would have thought he blamed me. The potentate and dewan certainly did."

Derek snarled. "Did they threaten you?" He moved as if to get up and go challenge them both to a fight right then. Luckily Stiles was still straddling him and made it difficult to move.

"I see their point. I'm the only effervescent in the area and as far as anyone knows, I'm the only one with this kind of power. It makes sense."

"Except that we both know it was not you." Derek grumbled, at least not trying to get up anymore.

"Exactly! So what was it? We thought it might be a weapon of some sort. Some new scientific discovery."

Derek nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Well, what does BUR think it is?"

"How much do you know about Ancient Egypt?" Derek asked.

Stiles was taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. He shrugged as if to indicate not much.

Derek continued. "It was ours, you know. The werewolves'. Long before non-supes had Greece and the vampires took Rome, we had Egypt. You know my half shape?"

Stiles shuddered briefly. It was a form he'd only seen once and while not horrifying, it was incredibly odd to see. Derek could change his entire head to that of a wolf's, while leaving his body that of a human.

"The thing that only true Alphas can do?"

Derek nodded. "We still call it the Anubis Form. Howlers say that, for a time, we were worshipped as gods in Egypt. Then there was a disease. They called it the God-Breaker Plague. It only affected the supernatural. It made everyone mortal and no metamorphosis happened in that area for a thousand years after."

"So you believe there's another disease like that?" Stiles asked.

"It's possible."

"Then why would it disappear?"

Derek shrugged. "I have no clue. Werewolf legends are oral – kept howler to howler – so I'm not sure how much has been embellished or forgotten."

Stiles shrugged. "It's as a good a theory as our weapon one. I can research both."

Derek growled. "You've been asked to look into it?"

Stiles nodded.

Derek didn't like the idea of Stiles taking on actual investigative duties. He thought the shah position was mostly political and involved paperwork. He'd apparently been wrong. Werewolves hated espionage – the vampires' game. He'd even accused Stiles of being a kind of drone to the government. Stiles had retaliated by withholding sex for a week.

"Can you think of someone better? It doesn't affect me, like it does everyone else."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"Are we done talking now," Derek asked plaintively, stroking Stiles's side. Stiles leaned down as Derek pushed himself up on his elbows.

* * *

Stiles awakened to find Derek already gone. When he went downstairs to get breakfast, Derek was nowhere to be found. Instead, he ran into Argent in the kitchen.

"So, where has he gone?"

Argent avoided eye contact and tried to bring up an interesting article in the paper on the counter. Stiles glared.

"Derek left a dusk."

"That's not what I asked." Stiles glared some more. You'd be surprised the practice you could get at glaring by both teaching a bunch of idiotic college students _and_ living with a pack of werewolves who didn't like to answer questions.

"He got a call this morning. I don't know from who or what it said. He swore and set off west." Argent explained, looking guilty.

"West where, exactly?"

"I think California."

Stiles swore. "He did _what_?"

"I think he ran. He's probably planning on taking trains during the day, but I think he needed the run to release some energy."

Stiles nodded. He was used to the excess energy. "Where exactly did he go?"

"Beacon Hills, I think," replied the Beta.

Stiles at least understood this. "I take it he found out about the Alpha being killed?"

Jackson, who had just entered the kitchen, looked surprised. "How did _you_ know that?"

Stiles glared. "I know a lot of things."

Argent tried not to laugh. "He did mention something about dealing with an embarrassing family emergency."

"Am I not family?" Stiles demanded.

To which Argent muttered under his breath, "And often embarrassing."

Stiles wondered if his face could permanently freeze in a glare.

"_We_ are his family and he left us! And I could have given him reason to stay." Jackson seemed even more annoyed by Derek's departure than Stiles was.

"Why do you tell me what you were going to tell him," Stiles demanded.

Jackson managed to look both guilty and angry at the same time. Finally – probably with the help of a look from Argent – he sighed. "While we were on the boat back, none of us could change into wolf form. All the units had wolves and none of us could change. We even grew _beards_! Once we left and traveled towards Newark, we were back to supernatural again."

Stiles nodded and decided it was probably time for him to go into the city. Laura, he knew, would have some information for him.

As he was walking out the front door, none other than Finstock walked up. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Hale called me. Told me to stay with you while he was gone."

Stiles was slightly miffed that Derek could call a _bodyguard_, but not his own husband.

Finstock continued. "Also, he recommends you go shoe shopping. There's a new store on Elizabeth St called Le Soulier d'Or that he suggested." Finstock could barely pronounce the shop name. Stiles laughed.

Whatever it was, Stiles was sure Derek would never request Stiles go shopping without some sort of purpose. Instead of Laura's, he headed toward Erica's apartment.

* * *

After picking Erica up, they made their way to Elizabeth St. Stiles was at a loss as to why Derek wanted him to visit Le Soulier d'Or. Not only was it a shoe shop, but it was a _woman's_ shoe shop. Unless Derek had been hiding something, Stiles didn't think Derek had a particular affinity for cross-dressing.

Erica, of course, was in heaven. She didn't know _why_ Stiles wanted to go here, but she also didn't particularly care.

Just as Erica reach to pick up a particularly ugly pair of canary-yellow heels with black details, a voice cried out. "Not that one!"

Erica's hand dropped to her side and both she and Stiles turned to see a woman emerging from a back room.

Stiles thought she was probably the most beautiful female he'd ever seen. She had large eyes and long red hair. "Hello, I'm Lydia. Welcome to Le Soulier d'Or. How can I help you?"

They indicated that they were just looking and Lydia gave them a pleasant smile. Erica continued to look around, but Stiles went over to the shoes. They were quite different from the rest of the shoes in the shop, almost as if they weren't meant to be purchased.

Behind the platform the shoes rested on, Stiles noticed a hidden knob. He finally realized why Derek had sent him here. He quickly turned away and began to notice other things – scrape marks on the floor, switches that did not seem to do anything, and another hidden knob.

Stiles was about to inspect sooner when –

_BOOM!_

The world around them exploded into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

An enormous noise shook the building around them. A few shoes toppled off their pedestals. Erica screamed and the lights went out. The shop descended into darkness.

It took a moment for Stiles to realize that the explosion had probably not been intended to kill _him_. Given his experiences since meeting Derek, this was a change of pace.

Stiles crouched down and felt around, waiting for his eyes to acclimatize to the darkness. He finally touched Erica's prone body. He patted her down, but she did not seem injured. She had a weak pulse and he felt breath on the back of his hand. He hoped she had simply fainted.

Stiles looked around for Lydia, but she was nowhere to be found. His eyes party adjusted to the darkness, he made his way to the back of the shop where the scrape marks were located.

He felt around for a switch or lever and finally found one under a display box. Pressing it down, the door swung open.

Stiles realized it was not a room or passageway, but an elevator. It looked more like a cage than a modern elevator, though, and even bumped the ground when it hit, causing Stiles to stumble into the side.

It opened onto a passageway. At the end was an open doorway from which Stiles could hear three angry voices.

"What could possibly have possessed you?" Lydia was asking, annoyed.

The room looked like a mix of laboratory and workroom, Stiles though, as he peered in.

"Well, I couldn't get the engine running."

The room was in ruins, though. Containers had been knocked off tables, glass had shattered, and thousands of small parts were scattered across the floor. A jumble of cords and wire coils lay on the ground along with the small table they had been laying on. There was dirt and grease everywhere, coating both fallen debris and everything that had remained standing. It was noisy, as a number of computers were running in the background, seemingly unaffected by the explosion. But it wasn't an invasive noise, though, simply a soothing noise of engineering.

Partly hidden by the debris, Lydia stood, hands on her hips, glaring down at a child. He came complete with a grease-smeared face, filthy hands, and a jaunty smile. He did not seem bothered by Lydia's annoyance, but rather excited about his inadvertent pyrotechnics.

"So, what did you do, Liam?"

There was a sigh from behind the boy. "I believe he got into some of the chemicals – tried mixing them together – and well…" The voice trailed off. It came from a very solid-looking ghost. The dead body must be relatively close and well reserved. Although it was possible that not the entirety of Manhattan was struck by the mass-exorcism, sparing this ghost, it seemed more likely to Stiles that the body had been moved here that day. Stiles thought that very suspect.

The boy giggled. "But it did make a fantastic bang."

Stiles couldn't help himself. He snorted. This was a boy after his own heart.

All three turned in his direction.

Stiles straightened up and entered the room.

"Welcome to my laboratory, Mr. Stilinski," said Lydia. He apparently hadn't hidden his identity all that well. Although, Derek was at least a minor celebrity in the city and, being married to him, Stiles had gained slight notoriety because of it.

"Call me Stiles. I didn't realize you were an inventor as well as a shop owner." Stiles replied.

"You'd be surprised how often the two cross paths." Lydia had a gleam in her eye that made Stiles a little wary of any shoes she might have that would cross those paths. "I should have realized you would find this place."

Stiles looked surprised. "Why?"

The shop owner smiled. "Your husband informed me that you were clever. And prone to interfering."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "That sounds like Derek."

He had finally traversed the debris around the room and made his way to the boy and ghost.

Kneeling down, he said to the boy, "I'm Stiles."

"Liam."

"So _did_ you get the engine running?"

Liam blushed. "Not exactly. But I did get a fire started. That should count for something, right?"

Stiles knew he liked this kid. "Of course."

Liam's grin grew wider.

The ghost introduced himself as Formerly Alan Deaton.

Stiles nodded politely, which surprised the ghost. The undead were often subjected to rudeness from the fully alive.

Lydia said to those assembled, "This is Stiles Stilinski-Hale. He is also shah to the President."

"Derek told you that?" Stiles was surprised. Not that many people knew of his political position and he and Derek usually preferred to keep it that way.

Lydia nodded and it looked as if Deaton floated away slightly, although Stiles could only exorcise by touching flesh, not a spirit.

"So, in what capacity did Derek inform you of my position? As Alpha or as head of BUR?"

"He and I know each other through BUR transactions, but he visited me a month or so ago as your husband. He wished me to make you a gift."

"A gift?" Stiles asked surprised. "Where is it?"

"Liam, go get some rags to clean this place up." Lydia shooed the boy away and the ghost followed. She then led Stiles to a cabinet in the corner of the room. She rummaged around for a moment, before pulling out a long wooden box.

Stiles held his breath in anticipation.

Opening the lid he pulled out a baseball bat. Stiles was very confused. It was a very odd looking baseball bat. It had carvings all over and it had an odd weight to it, like it might be hollow.

"He got me a baseball bat?"

Lydia laughed. "That's what he requested. Apparently you find them very useful. I told him it wouldn't be practical all the time, so he asked me to, and I quote, figure it out. I made it collapsible, kind of like a telescope." She demonstrated this for Stiles. "It should fit into a briefcase this way. But once it's expanded fully, it's very durable. You should be able to swing it like you would a regular bat and it shouldn't be damaged. There's a wood on the outside of the bat, but the frame itself is metal and should hold up to most of what you can swing it at."

Stiles was starting to see the use. He couldn't believe Derek thought a baseball bat was an appropriate weapon for him to carry around, but it made his eyes light with laughter all the same.

"When you press here" – Lydia indicated a small circle at the top knob – "the end cap opens and emits a poisoned dart with a numbing agent. If you twist the grip" – she twisted it and all the electronics in the room shut down. "It emits a magnetic disruptor. I think the range is only up to about 50 feet, but it should still be useful. These other two buttons on the knob cause it to emit either a silver or wooden spike."

Stiles was suitably impressed.

"Finally, if you twist both the knob and grip in opposite directions it will emit a mist. One click will emit lapis solaris. Two clicks will emit lapis lunearis. Make sure you are pointing it far away from you when you do. I tried to make it difficult to operate, so there wouldn't be any unfortunate accidents, but you know the solaris is toxic to both humans and vampires. The lunearis is, of course, for werewolves."

"What about the carvings?"

"Alan suggested I add them. I'm more of the scientific persuasion, but he told me they were a kind of magic protection. I would suggest you ask him, but I don't think he realized I was making this for a preternatural. You may just have to hit a few enemies first to see what they do." Lydia smiled again.

Stiles suddenly realized how long he had been under the shop. "Erica! She must be wondering where we've gone."

Once they trekked back up to the shop proper, Stiles found Erica still on the ground, but awake and alert. It appeared she had just fainted.

"What happened?"

"Just a loud bang and the lights went out. I went with Lydia to see if we could find a circuit breaker."

Erica looked suspicious, but bought the explanation. Despite working for BUR, she was still unaware of Stiles's effervescent proclivities.

* * *

Stiles went with Erica back to her apartment, but as he walked with her inside, he got a phone call from Chris Argent. He pointed to the phone and stayed in the hall while Erica went inside.

"Hello? Derek hasn't done anything, has he?"

Argent laughed. "No, nothing like that. It's just that the humanization plague has struck again and is moving westward."

Stiles frowned. "It's on the move?"

"Yes. And heading in the same direction as Derek. Slightly ahead of him."

"He doesn't know that, does he?"

Argent made a noise. "No and there's no way to tell him. If he took a phone, it's not on."

"Do we know how it's moving?" Stiles asked.

"It's moving quickly, but not quick enough to be by air. Possibly by car or train." Argent answered.

Stiles nodded to himself thoughtfully, although Argent couldn't see.

"Well, I may ask Laura about it. I need her advice."

Argent made a noise like he was going to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he paused and then said, "Well, I suppose someone must. Have a good evening, Stiles."

Stiles hung up and went inside briefly to tell Erica he had to leave, clutching his new baseball bat, despite the odd looks Erica was giving it.


	5. Chapter 5

Laura was home and seemed quite pleased to see Stiles. The ancient vampire sashayed forward to greet him, both arms extended, dressed in her version of the "casual woman at home". For most women, this might mean yoga pants and a tank top or perhaps jeans and a tshirt. For Laura, this meant silk drawstring pants in creamy white, a matching silk top of teal and white, and soft leather flats that Stiles was sure cost a fortune.

"Stiles, honey. I am so glad you came," she called out, wrapping Stiles in a hug.

At the preternatural contact, Laura turned from supernaturally beautiful, her skin ice white and hair shining ebony, to the merely pretty woman she had once been before metamorphosis.

"Always happy to see you, Laura." Stiles tried to wriggle out of her embrace. Luckily, the silk made it a tad easier.

"There is a mystery around New York and I am dying to know all about it. You know I _so_ love a mystery." She kissed his check and released him, curling her arm affectionately around his own. They made their way into a sitting room and Laura ejected a fat black cat from her slumbering position on top of a couch. Laura sat in the cat's former seat, while Stiles chose an armchair nearby.

"Well, darling," Laura continued, "Scotty told me the most scandalous story last night."

"He did? Where is Scott, anyway?"

Laura rolled her eyes. Stiles was starting to think he had started a trend in the supernatural community. He wasn't sure any of them had gotten into the habit of rolling their eyes before meeting him. "Causing trouble somewhere, I'm sure." She laughed. "He does have an admirable knack for being at the right place at the right time, though. For instance, yesterday he was at some seedy little bar for some reason or another," Laura wrinkled her nose is disgust. "And you will _never_ guess who he ran into hiding in the back alley."

Stiles sighed. "Derek?"

Laura looked crestfallen. "He told you?"

"No, it just seems to be the exact kind of place Derek would be skulking."

Laura laughed again. "Well, my Scotty says he was in quite a condition trying to get to the BUR offices."

"Drunk?" Stiles was doubtful. It took a lot to get werewolves drunk. In any case, it didn't seem like something Derek might do.

"Oh no, your husband encountered that disastrous malady about Manhattan and found himself both human and nude." Laura smirked. Stiles laughed.

"No wonder he didn't tell me."

"Scotty, of course, did not complain about it." Laura added, a twinkle in her eye.

"Well, who would?" Stiles gave credit where credit was due. His husband did have a very attractive figure. "That's interesting though. It means you don't have to be present with it hits. You can wander in and be infected."

"You think it's a disease?" asked Laura.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm not sure. What do you think it is?"

"I think it's probably a weapon." Laura was unusually blunt.

"You've heard of something like this before?" Stiles sat up a little straighter.

"No, but the little incident with your colleague taught me not to underestimate scientists." She did not say it in a malicious way, but Stiles still felt guilty that it was someone from his department who had kidnapped the both of them. Laura had almost died – permanently.

"Have your drones found out anything significant?"

Laura looked slightly annoyed. She did not like open acknowledgement that her collection of apparently decorative and inconsequential drones, possessed of good looks and little evident sense, were in fact consummate spies. She resigned himself to Stiles, and via Stiles, to Derek and BUR, knowing of her activities, but did not like them mentioned bluntly.

"Not much. One of the ships carrying some troops back to town was said to be affected, I believe."

"Yes, Jackson mentioned that."

"And what do you think of Jackson Whittemore?" Laura had a gleam in her eye that Stiles didn't like.

"_We try not_ to think about that repulsive individual at all."

Laura laughed.

Stiles tried to move back on topic. "If it is a weapon, I need to find out where it has gone. Argent said it was headed west. The question is, where, and who has it?"

"And _what_ is it, exactly?" added Laura. "If Argent claims it is heading westward, than westward it probably is. Your husband's Beta is _never_ wrong." There was an odd tone in Laura's voice. Stiles looked at her sharply. She continued. "When did it begin to move westward?"

Stiles thought for a moment. "I guess it would have left New York late yesterday or early this morning."

"Just as the problem stopped in New York?"

Stiles nodded.

"So what we need to know is what came in on the ship with your husband's werewolves, then proceeded west."

Stiles had a sinking feeling. "I have a feeling Argent is already gathering that information."

"But you already have an idea?" Laura asked interestedly.

"Call it instinct."

Laura smiled. "Ah, yes, your preternatural ancestors were hunters for generations, darling." She did not remind Stiles that they hunted vampires.

"Oh no, not that kind of instinct."

"No?"

"Perhaps I should call it husbandly intuition."

Stiles thought Laura looked a little uncomfortable. "You think Derek has something to do with it?"

Stiles frowned. "Not exactly, but where he goes…" He trailed off.

Now he was sure Laura looked uncomfortable. "You think this has something to do with the Beacon Hill Pack losing their Alpha?"

Stiles started. He didn't realize that fact was common knowledge. How _did_ Laura come by her information so quickly?

They sat in silence for a moment. "Stiles, I think you may be in need of a break for the summer. After all, you do not have any classes to teach or students to keep up with. Perhaps a vacation? Perhaps to California? I obviously could not join you, although I would like to, but I hear it is nice this time of year."

Stiles stared at her oddly, although he saw the need for him to go. He just didn't understand why Laura seemed so adamant that he make the trip.

"California is nice at _all_ times of the year." A voice rung out from the door to the sitting room.

Stiles realized it was Lydia, the shop owner of Le Soulier d'Or.

"I didn't realize you knew each other," said Stiles.

"We do not," said Laura. Turning to Lydia, she continued, "You must be Lydia Martin! The owner of the delightful new shoe shop on Elizabeth!"

The two women kissed the air near each other's cheeks and then gave critical glances towards each other's wardrobes. Both were very stylishly dressed, although Lydia's dress was more appropriate for being out, whereas Laura's was clearly an outfit for staying in the home. Stiles noted a certain undercurrent of wariness between the two, though, as though they were two vultures circling the same carcass.

They finally sat and Stiles tried to get the conversation going once again. "California, I suppose. I guess a plane shall be the fastest."

Laura nodded, apparently pleased to see that he was going.

"Let us move on, though. Lydia, why are you here?"

"Oh, she is going to create me a few pairs of custom shoes!" cried Laura in delight. If anything could get her mind of a potential weapon, it was talk of fashion.

Lydia smiled. "Yes. She heard of my work and asked me to create some. I, of course, had heard of her collection, so I wanted to get a look at what she had to get a feel for her particular taste. Additionally, as you know, I can make certain additions to items. I didn't want to discuss such additions in the shop."

Lydia gave Stiles a knowingly look and he clutched the baseball bat leaning on the armchair and little tighter. Laura looked at it with interest.

"Oh, did you create my darling Stiles a weapon? Do let me see, dear!" Laura snatched the bat away from him in a flash. Stiles took it back and took his time showing her all the features of his new bat, quite excited to try them out at some point.

After looking at Laura's enormous shoe collection (it took up an entire bedroom) and going over potential orders, both Lydia and Stiles decided it was probably time to leave. They both found themselves exiting Laura's residence at the same time.

"Do you really propose to fly to California tomorrow?" inquired Lydia.

"I think it best I go after my husband."

"Alone?"

"I'll take Allison, I suppose."

Lydia raised an eyebrow.

"My assistant, inherited from the Manhattan Hive."

Lydia gave him an odd look and then, climbing into a cab, nodded good bye.


	6. Chapter 6

Agent Chris Argent was impatient, although no one would ever guess it to look at him. Partly, of course, because he currently looked like a large, very hairy dog, skulking around the alley next to Laura Hale's home.

_How much time_, he was wondering, _could Stiles possibly spend with the vampire_? A good deal, apparently. Lydia Martin had been a surprise addition to the party and Argent wondered what she was adding to the conversation. It was odd to see her out of her shop and paying a social call. He made a mental note: this was something Derek should know about. Not that Argent had orders to watch the inventor. But, Martin _was_ a dangerous person to know.

He shifted, nose to the wind. Some new scent was in the air.

Then he noticed the vampires. Two of them lurking in the shadows well away from Laura's house. Any closer and the female rove would sense their alien presence. What were they there for?

Argent slunk a quick circle behind them, coming at them from downwind. Vampires, of course, had nowhere near the sense of smell that a werewolf did, but they had better hearing.

He crept in close, trying to be as silent as possible.

Neither of the vampires were BUR agents, that was for certain. Unless Argent missed his guess, these were Manhattan vamps.

They did not appear to be doing anything but watching.

"How fucking long can he be in there?" one of them said finally.

Argent wished he had brought a gun. Difficult to carry, though, in one's mouth.

"Remember, he wants it done stealthy. We don't want to go at it with the werewolves over nothing, you know…"

Argent, who did _not_ know, but was starting to suspect, wished the vampire to continue. He did not.

The other vampire suddenly held up a hand.

Stiles and Lydia emerged from Laura's home and made their good byes on the stoop. Lydia got into a cab and Stiles stood, looking thoughtful.

The two vampires moved toward him. Argent did not know what exactly they intended to do, only suspected _why_, but still guessed it was probably not good. It was certainly not worth risking Derek's wrath to find out. Quick as a flash, he slithered underneath one of the vampires, tripping him up, and in the next movement, lunged for the other, teeth snapping hard around anklebone. The first vampire, reacting rapidly, jumped so fast to one side as to be almost impossible to follow, at least for normal sight. Argent, of course, was not normal.

He leapt, meeting the vampire halfway, lupine body slamming into the man's side, throwing him off. The second vampire lunged toward him, grabbing for his tail.

The entire scuffle took place in almost complete silence, only the sound of snapping jaws marking the activity.

It gave Stiles just enough time, although he did not know he needed it, to climb into his car and set off down the street.

The two vampires both stilled as soon as the vehicle was out of sight. They then set off in the other direction.

Argent might have followed, but he decided on more precautionary measures and set off to follow Stiles and ensure he arrived home safely.

* * *

Stiles caught Argent when he came in, just before dawn. He looked exhausted, his already lean face pinched and drawn.

"Stiles, you waited up? How kind."

Stiles searched for sarcasm in his words, but if it was there, it was cleverly disguised. He was good. Stiles often wondered if Argent had been an actor before metamorphosis. He was so skilled at doing, and being, what was expected.

He did confirm his suspicions. Whatever it was that had caused the wide-scale lack of supernatural was definitely headed west. BUR had determined that the hour of Manhattan's return to supernatural normal correlated with the departure of the Beacon Hills Pack toward California. He was not surprised that Stiles had arrived at the same conclusion.

He was, however, against the idea that Stiles should go trailing after.

"Well, who else should go? At least I'm not affected by it!"

Argent glared at him. "_No one_ should go after it. Derek is perfectly capable of handling the situation, even if he doesn't know he has two problems to deal with. You seem to have forgotten he has wandered around undamaged for centuries without your help."

"Yes, and look how well that turned out! Someone has to tell Derek that Beacon Hills is to blame."

"He'll find out as soon as he sees that none of them are changing. He would not like you following him."

"He can kiss my ass." Stiles paused. "He does not have to like it. Neither do you. I will be leaving tomorrow. Derek can take it up with me when I arrive."

Argent had no doubt that his Alpha would do just that and be similarly humbled. Still, he would not give up so easily. "You have to take Boyd with you, at the very least. He can keep an eye on you."

Stiles was annoyed. "I don't need him. Have you seen my new bat?"

Argent had seen the purchase order and been suitably impressed, although he couldn't believe Derek had insisted on a baseball bat. "You can't be awake and aware at all times. And Derek would kill me if I let you go alone. It's either Boyd or Finstock."

Stiles sighed. If he brought Finstock, he'd never be able to get away. At least Boyd could be convinced to leave him alone once in a while. "Fine. If you insist."

* * *

Just after sunrise, having gotten very little sleep, Stiles commenced packing. Or, more precisely, Stiles commenced arguing with Allison over what should be packed.

"Anyone home?" a voice reverberated down the hallway.

A head appeared around the open doorway.

"Erica!"

"Stiles! I let myself in."

Stiles sighed. "Of course you did."

"Well… Boyd told me you were going to California and that Argent was making him go too."

"And…?" Stiles knew where this was going. He was just waiting for Erica to get there.

"Well, you know I hardly ever take vacation time, since BUR won't let Boyd and I take it together. I have a lot saved up."

Stiles stared. He wasn't going to make this easy for her.

"What if I took some and came with you to California?"

There it was.

"You realize I'm not going for sightseeing, right?"

"I know! But just think! California in the summer! And Boyd will be there with me." Erica, of course, was also not above manipulation. "And, Boyd will _have_ to spend time with me while we're there. So he won't have time to be around _you_ all the time."

Stiles sometimes wondered how much of his preternatural activities Erica actually knew about. Certainly she knew he liked to get in the middle of things like BUR investigations, but technically, his preternatural status was supposed to be need to know only, even at BUR.

The idea of getting Boyd out of the way using Erica was too great though, so Stiles relented. "You'll have to buy a ticket quickly. We'll be leaving soon."

"Oh don't worry. Boyd bought me one when he got yours."

Stiles rolled his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles was walking down the ramp to the plane and thinking it was going to be a long and tedious journey when a woman with bright red hair stepped in front of him. She turned back and smiled at him.

"Lydia?" asked Stiles, startled. "What are you doing here?"

Just then, Stiles's foot caught a bump on the ramp and he stumbled forward. Lydia caught him and he awkwardly groped her, trying to right himself.

Lydia merely smiled as he tried to straighten up. "I thought I might enjoy visiting California after our conversation yesterday."

Stiles frowned. It seemed odd to travel so soon after opening a brand-new shop, not to mention leaving both her son and a ghost that must mean something to her, if its body's location was any indication. Clearly the inventor must be a spy of some kind. He would have to keep his guard up around the redhead, which was sad, as Stiles thought he might enjoy the inventor's company and sharp wit.

Stiles introduced Lydia to both Boyd and Allison and she greeted Erica, as they had met the evening before.

Allison seemed very uncomfortable. Lydia gave her a long and hard look. Stiles heard Lydia hiss something at her, but Allison ignored the redhead and messed with something on her phone.

Lydia made for the back of the plane, while Stiles and his group stayed at the front in first class.

"Allison," Stiles addressed her thoughtfully, "what was that?"

"Oh, nothing, Stiles. Don't worry about it."

Stiles decided whatever it was could wait for later.

* * *

When they finally arrived in California, Stiles stopped off into the restroom, while Allison went to wait for the luggage. Erica, ever the shopper, figured the luggage would take a while, and drug Boyd off to an airport gift shop to find some kind of souvenir with "California" emblazoned on it.

When Stiles got near the luggage retrieval, he noticed Lydia and Allison standing close and whispering heatedly. He walked quietly closer, trying to hear what was said.

"…assume proper responsibility," said Lydia.

"I cannot. Not yet." Allison moved closer to the other woman, placing small, pleading hands on the inventor's arm. "Please do not ask me to."

"It better happen soon or I'll tell. You know I will." Lydia hissed. She shrugged off the brunette woman's grip.

"Soon, I promise." Allison pressed herself against the inventor's side and nested her head on the other woman's shoulder.

Again, Lydia shrugged her off. "Games, Allison. Games and playing assistant to a professor. That's all you have now, isn't it?"

"It is better than selling shoes."

Lydia rounded on Allison, gripping the woman's chin in her hand. "Did she really kick you out?" Her tone was both viscous and disbelieving.

Stiles was close enough by then to meet Allison's eyes when she looked away from Lydia. Allison started at his appearance and then threw herself at him so that he had no choice but to catch her.

Stiles was disturbed. Allison was rarely so emotional. Allison composed herself, hurriedly pulled herself from Stiles's grasp, and rushed away to the bathroom.

Stiles had liked Lydia, but he could hardly condone her fighting with his assistant. "The vampires rejected her, you know. It is a sensitive subject. She does not like to talk about the hive giving her up."

"I bet she doesn't."

Stiles bristled. "Any more than you would like to tell me the real reason you followed me to California." The inventor would have to learn: a pack protected its own. Stiles might only be pack by proxy, but Allison was still in its service.

Their eyes met for a long moment. Stiles could not interpret the woman's expression.

"Did you and Allison have some kind of _association_ in the past, Lydia?" Stiles asked.

Lydia shrugged slightly. "We did, once. I assure you we don't any longer."

Stiles cocked his head to the side. "Who are you working for? Some government? That fringe science group?"

Lydia backed away slightly, strangely upset by the question. "You misconstrue my presence here, Stiles. I assure you, I work only for myself."

* * *

"I wouldn't trust her if I were you," said Allison. They were riding in the back of a rental car, while Erica rode up front with Boyd, who was driving.

"Is there something I should know?"

"Only that I knew her before I became a drone."

"And?" Stiles felt like he was pulling teeth.

"We did not part on friendly terms. It was personal."

"I won't pry, then." Stiles wished more than anything to pry.

"She didn't say anything to you?" Allison asked.

"Nothing important," replied Stiles.

Allison didn't look convinced. "You don't trust me, do you?"

Stiles looked at her in surprise, meeting Allison's eyes. "You were drone to a rove, but you also served the Manhattan Hive. _Trust_ is a strong word. I trust you as an assistant to keep my schedule and help me with email and the like, but you can't ask for more than that."

Allison nodded. "So it's not something Lydia said?"

"No. Should it be?"

Allison looked away and shook her head.

"You won't tell me anything about your previous relationship?"

Allison remained silent, but looked increasingly uncomfortable.

Stiles sat back in his seat and sighed.

* * *

Chris Argent was old, for a werewolf. Something like three hundred or so. He had long since stopped counting. And through all that time, he had played the game of chess with local vampires: they moved their pawns and he moves his. He'd been one of the first supernatural changes in the American colonies, so he'd never known the European Dark Ages, not personally. But he, like every other supernatural in the world, worked hard to keep them from returning. Of course, he could simply march up to the Manhattan Hive and _ask_ them what they were doing. But they would no more tell him than he would tell them Derek had BUR agents watching the hive twenty-four hours a day.

Argent reached his destination and changed form in a dark alley, throwing the cloak he carried in his mouth around his naked body. Not precisely appropriate dress, but he was confident people would understand. This _was_ business. Then again, one could never tell with vampires. They had dominated the fashion world for decades as a kind of indirect campaign against werewolves and the uncivilized state shifting required.

He rang the doorbell.

A young man answered the door.

"Agent Chris Argent to see Laura Hale."

The young man gave the werewolf a very long look. "Wait here while I let her know you're here."

Vampires were odd about invitations. Argent nodded.

A moment later, Laura Hale opened the door and greeted him.

They had met before, of course, but Argent had never visited the vampire at her home.

"Agent Argent." Laura Hale gave him an appraising look. She was dressed to go out. "Alone? To what do I owe this honor?"

"I have a proposition for you."

Laura looked the werewolf up and down and her eyebrows rose in surprise. "I think you had best come inside."


	8. Chapter 8

They arrived in Beacon Hills just before sunset. They got out of the car and stretched in front of a park which was surrounded by a number of small shops and restaurants. Stiles wondered if he should try to find a hotel or they should find his husband first. He didn't have to ponder that decision long.

"What is that?" cried Erica.

An exceedingly large dog was charging in their direction. The immense dog came close enough for Stiles to realize it was in fact a large wolf. It had a wad of fabric wrapped about its neck. Its fur was black and its eyes were bright red.

Upon reaching them, the wolf gave nods to Erica, Boyd, and Allison. He then put its head right under Stiles's hand, as if he wanted it to be scratched.

"Derek," said Stiles. "I was just wondering if we should go find you. I didn't realize you'd find me quite so quickly."

Derek lolled his long pink tongue at his husband good-naturedly.

"Erica, you might want to turn away."

"Why?"

"I think Derek is going to change. Boyd and Allison are used to it, but it's kind of disgusting."

If werewolves could look offended, Stiles was pretty sure Derek did in that moment.

Erica protested mildly, but when even Allison turned away so as not to see the change, she did as well.

Werewolf change was never pleasant. That was one of the reasons pack members still referred to it as a curse, despite the fact that, in the modern age, clavigers chose metamorphosis. The change comprised a good deal of biological rearranging. Stiles had seen his husband change many times, and every time he found it both disgusting and scientifically interesting.

In mere moments, Derek stood before his husband: a large, muscular man without fat. He turned his eyes, now green, towards his husband.

Stiles gave him an appreciative look for a moment. Derek made no move to put on the sweatpants and tshirt he had tied around his neck on his run to them. Boyd cleared his throat, clearly knowing what was going on, even if he was looking at Erica and not the two of them. Stiles blushed and helped Derek unwrap his clothes and pull them on.

"You all can turn around now. He's decent."

Erica snorted. Stiles thought he should probably stop sharing _all_ of his juicy stories about Derek with Erica.

"How did you know I was here?" Stiles asked, plastering himself up to Derek's side.

"Just knew," Derek grunted, wrapping an arm around Stiles's waist and hauling him closer against his side. "This road is just off my route. I caught your scent and saw a car coming up the road. Figured I should see what was going on. Now you, what are you doing in California? With Erica?"

"Well, Argent made me bring Boyd. Erica wanted to tag along, so I let her." Stiles was _not_ going to tell Derek that he brought Erica simply as a way to distract Boyd when he wanted to sneak away.

"I'm sure." Derek did not sound convinced. He knew Stiles too well. "Stop trying to change the subject. Why _are_ you here?"

"Why darling," Stiles batted his eyelashes and held his hand to his chest, as he imagined a romance heroine might, "I was coming to see _you_ of course. I missed you so."

"How romantic," Derek rolled his eyes.

Stiles leaned in. "Later. When other can't overheard," he whispered against Derek's ear.

Derek nodded and then turned toward Stiles and kissed him, lips warm and adamant.

Erica cleared her throat. It seemed she was picking up some of Boyd's bad habits.

Another car pulled up behind theirs. Lydia Martin parked and got out.

"Lydia Martin was also on board the plane. Quite _unexpectedly,_" Stiles said to his husband. He emphasized the last word for Derek's benefit, hoping he might understand his concern over the inventor's presence. He turned towards the redhead. "I suppose you decided your visit to California would need to be to Beacon Hills?"

Lydia just smiled. Derek greeted the inventor warmly. "I have heard that the Beacon Hills pack is having some problems at their manor. Would you mind looking over some things while you're in town?"

Stiles pinched his husband in annoyance. Derek shook his head slightly at Stiles in response.

Lydia accepted the invitation.

Stiles managed only a brief private word with Derek as everyone piled back into the cars to head to the Beacon Hills's Pack manor.

"Jackson said the werewolves couldn't change all the boat ride over."

Derek blinked at him, startled. "Really?"

"And Argent said the plague is moving westward. He thinks it beat us to California."

Derek frowned. "He thinks it's something to do with the Beacon Hills Pack, doesn't he?"

Stiles nodded.

Strangely, his husband grinned. "Good, that gives me an excuse."

"Excuse for what?"

"Showing up on their doorstep; they'd never let me in otherwise."

"What?" Stiles hissed. "Why?" But they were interrupted by Erica and Boyd and they started off towards the manor.

* * *

The house was large, but looked dark and miserable. Stiles would bet that it was dark and miserable on the inside as well.

There appeared to be a person waiting for them.

Derek grunted. Stiles was adept enough at interpreting his grunts to know that this was not a good grunt.

"Who is that?" Erica wanted to know.

The person stood in ratty jeans and a tshirt that hung too large on their slight frame.

The woman – upon closer inspection, the person did appear to be female – did not move forward to greet them. Nor did she offer them shelter. She simply stood and glared. And her glaring was most definitely centered on Derek.

They approached cautiously.

"You're not welcome here, Derek Hale, you know!" she yelled, long before they were within any reasonable conversational distance. "Leave before you're fighting all of what's left of the pack."

As they got closer, Stiles noticed that she appeared to be in her 30s. She was very pretty, with dark hair and darker eyes. Her face reminded Stiles of Laura, but the expression on it was not one he had ever seen on the socialite vampire's face.

The woman shouldered a rifle with skill and pointed it at Derek.

"Don't think you can change on me. The pack's been free of the curse for months, since we started out across the sea."

"Which is why I'm here, Cora." Derek continued to advance. He was a good liar, his husband, Stiles though proudly.

"You're doubting these bullets will kill you?"

"What does it matter if I'm mortal? Any bullet will kill me."

"I guess it doesn't," said the woman – Cora.

"We have come to help, Cora."

"Who's been saying we need help? You're not wanted here. Get out of Beacon Hills territory – all of you."

Derek sighed heavily. "This is BUR business. Your pack's behavior has called me here, willing or not. I'm not here as Newark Alpha. I'm not even here as mediator for your Alpha gap. I'm here as sundowner. What did you expect?"

The woman flinched away, but she also put down the gun. "I see how it is. You don't care what happens to the pack – _your_ pack. You're simply here for the government. Coward, that's what you are, Derek Hale, and nothing more."

Derek sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. He had reached Cora at this point. Only Stiles still trailed behind him. The rest had stopped at the sight of the woman's gun. Stiles glanced back over her shoulder to see Boyd steadily pointing a small pistol at the woman and Lydia holding her hand in her pocket as if also grasping at a weapon. Erica stood back behind the two, so as to stay out of their line of fire.

"You think I came across the country because I don't care? I could have passed it off to a California office. What did they get up to over there, Cora?"

"What do you care? You abandoned us."

"I had no choice." Derek's voice was weary.

"Fuck that, Derek. That's a cop-out and we both know it. Are you going to fix the mess you left behind 20 years ago now that you're back?"

Stiles looked at his husband, curious. Perhaps he would finally get the answer to something he'd always wondered about. Why would an Alpha abdicate one pack, only to seek out and fight to rule another?

Derek remained silent.

The woman stared at him.

Finally Derek said, "Let us come inside and I will think about it."

The woman grunted. She then turned around and marched back up into the house.

Stiles turned to his husband. "Interesting lady."

"Don't start," he growled. He turned to the rest of their group. "That is about as much of an invitation as we're likely to receive. Come on inside. Leave the luggage. Cora will send someone out to get it."

"And you are convinced she will not simply toss it all into the pond, Derek?" wondered Erica.

He snorted. "No guarantees."

Stiles grabbed his briefcase and together, the group entered the Beacon Hills Manor.


	9. Chapter 9

It was as dark and miserable on the inside as it was on the outside. _Neglected_ was too fine a term for it. There were no carpets on the wooden floors that had seen better days, some of the walls had holes in them, and most of the light was cast by _candles_, of all things.

Cora caught Stiles's expression.

"Not up to your big city standards, is it?"

"Not up to anyone's standards. You don't even have electricity running. I see switches. I know you have the place wired for it. I can't imagine why you _choose_ to live in the dark," shot back Stiles.

"I'm not stopping you from heading back out."

Stiles cocked his head to the side. "Yes, but would you stop me from getting the electricity turned on? Or do you have a particular attachment to the scorch marks on the walls someone caused knocking over your candles?"

The woman chuckled at him.

Derek sighed and said, "Cora, this is my husband, Stiles Stilinski-Hale. Stiles, this is Cora Hale. My great-great-great-granddaughter."

Stiles was surprised. His guess would have been a grand-niece of some kind, not a direct descendent. His husband had a child before he changed? Now _why_ hadn't he told him that?

"But," objected Erica, "she looks older than Stiles." A pause. "She looks at least your age, Derek."

Studying the subject abstractly did not give you a great primer in the bloodlines and family trees of the immortal, Stiles had learned firsthand. Erica had yet to learn that.

"I would not try to understand, if I were you," said Lydia with a small smile.

"I'm thirty five," replied Cora. She looked pointedly at Derek. "Far too old."

Nobody said anything for a moment, so Stiles broke the silence. "Derek, why did you tell me you had a family before you became a werewolf?"

Derek shrugged. "You never asked." He turned to introduce the rest of the party.

The woman looked at her great-great-great-grandfather. "I suppose you'd like to see the rest of the pack?"

Derek inclined his head. Cora led them down a long hallway to a back room filled with large men.

Stiles looked at the men. There seemed to be an equal mix of disgust and delight at seeing Derek.

Derek introduced him to those he knew. The Beacon Hills Pack Beta, nominally in charge, was one of the unhappy ones, while the Gamma was one of those pleased to see Derek. The remaining four members fell two for and two against and ranged themselves to stand accordingly, as though preparing for a fight. Beacon Hills was smaller than the Newark Pack and less unified. Stiles wondered what kind of man the post-Derek Alpha had been, to lead this contentious lot.

Then, Derek grabbed the surly Beta, who responded to the name of Matt, and dragged him of into another room, leaving Stiles to try to calm the tense atmosphere left behind.

"We heard about you," said the Gamma. "Knew he had suckered himself to a curse breaker." He paced around Stiles slowly in a circle as though examining him for flaws. It felt very doglike to Stiles. He was prepared to jump back if he cocked a leg. (And no, as he had tried multiple times to tell Derek, those jokes _never_ got old.)

Luckily, it seemed that Erica was not paying attention to the Gamma, so at least his secret was safe. He really should tell her at some point, he supposed, but it was odd enough telling his father after so long. And his father was _much_ less likely to hit him for keeping a secret.

Stiles said, "You have the upper hand on me. I know nothing of you." They were all very large. At least some of the werewolves in the Newark Pack were his size. None here were. He was not used to feeling so small.

The Gamma's face went pinched. "Over a century he was Alpha of this pack and he hasn't mentioned us to you?"

"Could be _me_ he does not want to know you, rather than you he does not want to talk about," offered Stiles.

The werewolf gave her a long, assessing look. "He never brought us up, did he?"

Cora interrupted them. "Enough gossip. We'll show you to your rooms."

The upstairs bedrooms seemed not better off than the rest of the place, muted in color and damp in smell. The room given to Stiles and Derek was tidy, but musty and obviously unused. There was a large bed, two small wardrobes, and a small bathroom attached.

He checked around for a safe place to put his briefcase, with little success. There didn't seem to be anywhere discreet so he took it two doors down to Erica and hid it in her room.

Stiles went back to his room to shower and change after the long plane ride. He ran into Allison in the room.

"Stiles, please, why is Lydia still with us?"

"You really don't like her, do you?"

Allison gave a small shrug.

"It was my husband's idea. I don't trust her either. You know how Derek gets, though. Apparently there is some kind of mechanical problem here for her to fix. Hopefully it is the electricity," he said wistfully, looking around at the candles.

Allison nodded and left the room.

His husband came in the room just as he was fastening his belt.

"Oh good, there you are. Hand me that shirt, would you?" Stiles gestured vaguely to a shirt lying on the bed.

Entirely ignoring his command, Derek strode over to him in three quick steps and buried his face in the side of Stiles's neck.

Stiles emitted an exasperated sigh, but at the same time swiveled around to wrap his arms around Derek's neck.

"That is not very helpful. You realize we're supposed to go down for dinner soon."

Derek kissed him.

When breathing eventually became a necessity, Derek said, "I wanted to do that the entire ride here." He moved his hands against Stiles's ass and hoisted him flush against his body.

"And here I thought you were thinking about politics most of the ride; you were frowning," replied Stiles with a grin.

"Well, that too. I _can_ do two things at once. For instance, right now I am talking to you and also devising a way to get you out of those pants."

"Derek, we really do have things to do."

Derek ignored him and started working on the belt. Stiles grabbed his shirt and pulled him back towards the bed.

With Derek flush on top of him, they work quickly to divest each other of clothes. They were going to be _so_ late for dinner.

* * *

Later, they lay in the bed, neither willing to get up.

Stiles looked at his phone. "They said dinner is in 10 minutes. We need to get dressed."

Derek grunted.

They heard clattering around downstairs and Stiles could distinctly hear Cora's loud voice.

"Why _didn't_ you tell me you had living descendants?"

Derek snorted, absently running his hand over Stiles's arm. "It was something you did back then, before becoming a werewolf. You had a descendant. And you've met Cora. Would you want to claim her?"

Stiles sighed, leaning into Derek's shoulder. "She seems like a good woman."

"What she is, is an impossible grouch."

Stiles grinned. "Well, there can be no doubt where she gets that from." He switched tactics. "Are you going to tell me anything else? Are there any others out there? Am I likely to encounter another relation scattered about?"

Derek grunted. Stiles knew this meant he wasn't going to talk about it, at least not right then. He was mostly surprised by Cora, but not really upset about her. He expected Derek to have other relationships over the years. He would have been concerned if he'd been alive this long and hadn't. He was still upset that Derek had taken off without telling him. _Especially_ when this was likely something important to the both of them.

"Derek, have you been able to change since we got here?"

Derek frowned. "I hadn't thought to try."

His face got a look of concentration, but nothing happened. He shook his head. "Impossible. It feels like I'm touching you and trying for my wolf form. Not difficult or elusive, just not there."

"None of this pack has been able to change for months, have they? What happened to them overseas?"

Derek looked at his husband. "They won't tell me. I'm no longer Alpha here. They owe me no explanation."

"Bullshit. You're BUR. They affected your area of the country and I'm sure you've already called and got permission to investigate in California. _And _I'm sure the California office was only too happy to let you take the case."

Derek looked guilty. "They still won't see me as anything but a former Alpha. I may have no wish to lead them anymore, but I don't want to kill them either. They know that."

"Do you mind if I question them?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know how that will be any better." Derek was doubtful. "They don't know you're shah and I don't know if it would make a difference. They don't particularly care for governmental interference in pack business. Most packs don't."

"I'll be discreet."

Derek snorted.

"Well, as discreet as I can."

"It can't hurt," Derek conceded. "But don't use the new bat."

Stiles grinned. "I'll be direct, but not quite that direct."

"Why do I doubt that? Watch out for Matt; he can be difficult."

"Not up to Argent's level as a Beta?"

"Not sure. He was never my Beta, not even my Gamma."

"Really?" Stiles was surprised. "The Alpha, the one who was killed overseas, he wasn't your Beta either?"

"No. Mine died," Derek replied shortly, in a tone of voice that said he did not want to discuss the matter further.


	10. Chapter 10

They were the last two to arrive downstairs for dinner. Conversation was already ongoing. Lydia was in deep discussion with one of the clavigers, a young man, barely eighteen, Stiles thought. They appeared to be discussing the manor's electricity and formulating plans to fix it after the meal. Stiles was relieved.

Beacon Hills's Beta, Gamma, and four other pack members all looked uninterested in everything around them, but spoke comfortably enough with Erica and Boyd.

Cora paused in her conversation with Allison to glare at her distant grandfather and his husband for their tardiness. The conversation remained rather awkward after Derek and Stiles sat down.

Finally, in desperation, Stiles asked, rather casually, he thought, as to how the pack was enjoying its vacation from the werewolf curse.

Derek rolled his eyes. He didn't think even Stiles would confront the pack so directly, en masse and over dinner. He thought he would at least approach members individually. But then, subtlety had never been his style.

Stiles looked sharply at the Beacon Hills Pack sitting around the table. Six large, guilty-looking men looked anywhere but at Stiles.

Finally, the Gamma said awkwardly, "It has been an interesting few months. Of course, Matt and myself have been supernatural long enough to be able to go out during the day without any difficulties, but the others have enjoyed the vacation."

"I've only been a werewolf for a few decades, but I hadn't realized how much I missed the sun," commented one of the younger pack members.

"Now it's beginning to get a little annoying, though," added another.

The youngest pack member grinned. "Yea, imagine, at first we missed the light. Now we miss the curse. Once you get used to being a wolf part of the time, it's hard to go back to human."

The Beta gave them all a warning look.

"Being mortal is so inconvenient," complained a third, ignoring the Beta.

"These days, even the tiniest cuts take forever to heal. And I'm _so_ weak! I used to be able to lift the back of a car. Now, I could barely carry in all the luggage."

"I forgot how to shave," continued the first wolf with a laugh.

"Boys," barked Cora, "that's enough."

They all nodded and shut up. They were two or three times her age. They had probably seen her grow up. They still followed all her instructions.

The table feel silent.

"So, are you all _aging_?" asked Stiles.

No one answered Stiles, but the pack's collective worried expression spoke volumes. They were back to being entirely human, or as human as creatures who had partially died could get. _Mortal_ was perhaps the better word for it. It meant they could finish dying now, just like any other daylight non-supe. Of course, Derek was in the same situation.

Stiles paused a moment. "I'm impressed you're not panicking. But I am curious – why not ask for medical assistance when you were in New York? Or maybe in LA once you got back to California? Somewhere with more facilities? Or even to ask BUR to look into it? You did come through New York with the rest of the werewolf packs."

The pack looked to Derek to rescue them from his husband. Derek's expression said it all: they were at Stiles's mercy and he was enjoying witnessing the carnage. Still, he need not have asked. Stiles was perfectly aware of the fact that most supernatural creatures mistrusted modern doctors and this pack would hardly seek out New York's BUR offices with Derek in charge. Of course they would want to get out of New York as quickly as possible, retreat to the safety of their home, hiding with their tails between their legs – proverbially, of course, as this was no longer literally possible. No tails to be seen.

"So how did it happen? Did you eat something odd in the Middle East? Where were, you exactly, anyway?"

Awkward silence persisted. Derek continued to eat, ignoring his pack. Erica, Boyd, and Allison were watching with interested expressions. Lydia looked as if she was trying to look uninterested, but her eyes darted between Stiles and the Beacon Hills Pack members.

Stiles continued, undeterred. "Are you all ill? Derek thinks you have a plague. Will you be infecting him in addition to yourselves?" Stiles turned to look pointedly at Derek, sitting next to him. "I am not entirely sure how I would feel about that."

"Thank you for your concern," Derek grunted. It was an amused grunt. Stiles could tell.

"I heard of this phenomenon," piped up Lydia, turning her attention towards the conversation. "I was out of the area, getting ready to move my uncle's body into the area so his ghost could be there, actually, when it happened, so I couldn't witness it firsthand. I'm sure there's a scientific explanation, though."

"Scientists!" muttered Matt. Two of his fellow pack members nodded in agreement.

This seemed to be the end of the conversation and eventually everyone drifted on to other topics.

After dinner, Stiles sat next to Cora in the living room while Lydia and some of the pack went to work on the electricity.

"You are fully human, yet you seem to act as Alpha. How is that?" he asked, settling himself on a couch.

"They lack leadership and I'm the only one left."

"Do you enjoy leading?" Stiles was genuinely curious.

"It'd work better if I were actually a werewolf."

Stiles was surprised. "Would you be willing to try? It's a risk."

"Yea, but your husband doesn't really care for my wishes." Left unsaid was the fact that Derek's was the only opinion that mattered. Only an Alpha capable of the half form – the Anbuis Form, as Stiles had recently learned it was called – could create more werewolves. Stiles had never witnessed a metamorphosis, but he had read the research on it. Something about holding onto life needing both forms at once.

"He thinks you would die in the attempt. And it would be at his hand. Well, at his teeth."

Cora nodded. Suddenly she looked far older than in her mid-30's.

"And I'm the last of his mortal line," said Cora.

"Oh," Stiles nodded. "And he would have to give you the full bite. It's a heavy burden you ask, to end his last mortal holding. Is that why he left the pack?"

"You think I drove him out by asking? You don't know the truth?"

"Obviously not."

"It's not my place to telling you. You married the asshole, you should be asking him." Sometimes Cora spoke as if Derek was a particularly unliked older brother or uncle, rather than distant grandfather.

"You think I haven't tried?"

Cora shook her head. "Why _did_ you marry him? Because he's rich? Because he's in charge of BUR where you live and they watch your kind? What do you gain from it? What did you do it for?"

It was clear Cora thought Stiles had married Derek for personal gain.

"You know," replied Stiles, "I ask myself that question daily."

"It isn't natural."

"Of course it's not. How could it be, when neither of us are?" Stiles could usually control annoyance or anger when people implied that he only married Derek for his money, but Cora was really starting to irritate him.

"I can't figure you out, curse-breaker."

"It is really simple. I'm just like you, except I hold onto life a little differently."

Cora leaned forward. "I was raised by the pack. I was always going to become Alpha and lead them, whether he changed me or not. You merely married into it."

"And in that you have the advantage over me. But then again, I'm mostly retraining _my_ pack to accept my ways."

A half-smile appeared on Cora's face. "I bet Jackson _loves_ you."

Stiles laughed.

Just when Stiles felt like he might be gaining ground with Cora, an enormous crash reverberated against the wall.

Cora and Stiles rushed into the next room only to find Derek and Matt fighting. The Beacon Hills Gamma just shook his head. "They need to get it out of their system."

Cora was glaring at both men as they rolled around, at this point trying more to strangle each other than actually fight.

"Don't they realize that they're humans and can seriously get injured like this? They don't have supernatural healing right now." Stiles said. When everyone ignored him, he rolled his eyes. He contemplated getting his new baseball bat from upstairs.

Eventually they fell apart, both leaning against opposite walls of the room. Stiles kneeled down next to Derek to examine his injuries.

He looked between Derek and the Beta. "Settle the issue, then?"

Matt gave him a deadpan expression that managed to indicate a certain profound level of deep disgust in Stiles's very existence, let alone his question.

Matt made to rise and Derek instantly got to his feet. He would have to, Stiles supposed, to maintain dominance. Or something stupid like that. _Werewolves_.

"Nothing has been settled," Matt said, returning hastily to his slumped position on the floor. He appeared worse off than Derek. One of his arms looked broke and there was a gash on his cheek. "You abandoned us." Matt sounded like a petulant child.

"You all know _exactly_ why I left," Derek growled.

"Uh," said Stiles timidly, "I do not."

Everyone ignored him.

"You couldn't control the pack," Matt accused.

Everyone in the room gasped. Stiles did not comprehend the gravity of the insult, but understood everyone else was upset.

"_You_ betrayed _me_." Derek did not yell, but the words carried and, even though he could not change to wolf form, there was wolf anger in them.

"And you pay us back in kind? The emptiness you left, was that fair?"

"There is nothing fair about pack protocol. You and I both know that; there is simply protocol. And there was none to cover what you did. It was entirely unprecedented. So I was cursed with making it up myself. Abandonment seemed a better solution then killing you all." Derek spoke almost quietly, but everyone in the room could hear his words.

Stiles looked at the Gamma, who had tears in his eyes.

"Besides," Derek's voice softened, "Francis was a perfectly good Alpha alternative. He led you well. He married Cora. You were tame enough for decades under his dominance."

Cora finally spoke. Her voice was oddly soft. "Francis was my mate and I loved him. He was brilliant and a good soldier, but he wasn't a true Alpha."

"Are you saying he wasn't dominant enough? I didn't hear anything about lack of discipline. Whenever I looked into the pack, you all seemed fine." Derek's voice was soft.

"So you did check up on us?" Cora looked hurt rather than relieved.

"Of course I did. You _were_ once my pack."

Matt looked up from where he still lay on the floor. "You left us weak, Derek, and you knew it. Francis had no Anubis Form and the pack couldn't procreate. Clavigers abandoned us and local omegas rebelled and we didn't have an Alpha fighting for the integrity of the pack."

Stiles glanced at his husband. His face was carved in stone.

"You betrayed me," he repeated, as though that settled the matter. Which, in Derek's world, it probably did. He valued few things more than loyalty.

Stiles decided to reassert his presence. "What is the point of this? Nothing can be done about it now, since none of you can change into any form at all. No new wolves can be made, no new Alpha found, no challenge battles fought. Why argue about what was?"

Derek looked at him and almost smiled. "Now you understand why I married him."

Cora said snidely, "A desperate, if ineffectual, attempt at control?"

"Oooh, she has claws. Are you positive you never bit her to change? She has the temper of a werewolf." Stiles could be just as snide.

The Gamma stepped forward, looking at Stiles. "I'm sorry for all of this today. Not having an Alpha for a few moons has made us nervous."

"Oh, and here I thought your behavior sprang from the whole not being able to change shape thing," he replied.

The Gamma grinned. "Well, that too."

"I don't suppose you are going to tell us what trouble you go into overseas?" Stiles tried to look as though he wasn't very interested, taking Derek's arm casually.

Silence.

"Well, I think we've had about as much excitement as I can stand for the evening. Since you have been human for a few months, I take it your keeping to non-supe hours?"

Cora nodded.

"In that case, Derek and I are going to bed."

"We are?" Derek looked confused.

"Good night," said Stiles firmly to the pack and clavigers. He practically dragged Derek from the room.

"What are you on about?" Derek demanded as soon as they were upstairs and out of everyone's earshot.

Stiles plastered himself up against Derek and kissed him fiercly.

"Ouch," Derek said when they pulled apart, although he had participated with gusto. "Busted lip."

"You are impossible," Stiles swatted him lightly on the arm. "You could have been killed in a fight, do you realize?"

Derek waived a dismissive hand. "For a Beta, Matt is not a good fighter, even in wolf form. He was hardly going to be any better as a human."

"He is _still_ a trained soldier." He was not going to let this go.

"Have you forgotten that so am I? Hell, I'm a federal agent!"

"_You_ are out of practice. Newark Pack Alpha hasn't enlisted in years."

"Are you saying I'm getting old? I'll show you old." Derek swept Stiles up and carried him into their room.

"Stop trying to distract me," said Stiles several moments later. During which time Derek had managed to divest him of a good percentage of his clothes.

"Me, distract you? You're the one you drug me up here when things were getting interesting."

"They are not going to tell us what is going on now matter how hard we push," said Stiles, unbuttoning Derek's shirt and hissing in concern at the array of harsh red marks destined to become rather livid bruises. "We're going to have to figure this out ourselves."

Derek paused in kissing a path down Stiles's collarbone to look at him suspiciously. "You have a plan."

"Yes, I do, and the first part of it involves you telling me exactly what happened twenty years ago to make you leave. No." He stopped Derek's wandering hand. "Stop that. And the second part involves you going to sleep. You are going to hurt in places your little supernatural body forgot it could hurt in."

Derek flopped back on the pillow. There was no reasoning with Stiles when he got like this. "And the third part of the plan?" Stiles liked to think in threes. Something to do with his dad, Derek thought.

"That is for me to know and you not to know."

Derek sighed. "I hate it when you do that."

Stiles grinned and laid back against the pillows. Derek turned on his side, wincing at the pain in his chest.

"At least help distract me from the pain for a minute, first."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but more out of habit than any real desire to. He was already turning to his husband, slotting his leg in between Derek's.

Afterward Derek lay staring up at the ceiling and told Stiles why he had left the Beacon Hills Pack. He told him all of it, from what it was like being in charge of the pack to the death of his mother and older brother, planned by the then Beacon Hills Beta, his lover, without his knowledge.

Derek did not look at Stiles once while he talked. Instead his eyes remained fixed on the stained and smudged molding of the ceiling above them.

"They were all in on it. Every last one of them – pack and clavigers. And not a one of them told me. Not because they were all that loyal to her – not to Kate. But she had them twisted around her finger. Had them so convinced that my mother and brother were a threat to the pack that they had to be taken out. She actually convinced them that I wanted it done, but couldn't stomach condoning it myself. So they lied to me and they killed my mother and my brother, all because I never made Kate my Alpha mate. All because I left her as my Beta and she thought it was my mother's fault."

Derek looked distressed and angry. Stiles ran his hand through Derek's hair softly.

"And you ended up having to kill her over it. Then what, you simply took off for New York, leaving them without leadership?"

Derek finally turned and looked at Stiles, propping himself on his elbow. Seeing no judgment or accusation in Stiles's eyes, he relaxed. "There is no pack protocol to cover this. A large-scale betrayal of an Alpha – to kill their family with no challenge, no reason, and by _fire_, not a challenge, but _fire_ – led by my own Beta." His eyes were agonized. "_Kate_! They all deserved to die right then. I could have done it and no one would have objected. The dewan probably would have helped. If he had been on this side of country, he might have done it all himself."

He looked to Stiles and his eyes were sad.

Stiles continued to stroke Derek's head. "Why New York, though? Why all the way there?"

Derek had settled down and was starting to drift off to sleep. Stiles nudged him, trying to get an answer before he feel asleep.

Derek murmured, "New York. For family," and fell silent.

Stiles remained awake much longer trying to figure out Derek's answer.


	11. Chapter 11

Using the information Laura had provided, and with the assistance of a nice young man the vampire referred to only as Scotty, Chris Argent set up an operation. "Ennis has been meeting with various soldiers coming back from deployment," Laura had informed them over aged scotch – a warm fire in the grate and a plump black cat on her knee. "At first I thought it was simply drugs or something, but now I think it's more than that. The hive is not only using its vampire contacts, but common soldiers. I can't figure out what they're buying up. You want to find out what Manhattan is up to? Tap into those werewolf military connections of yours, _darling_, and set up an offer. Scotty can take you to a good place."

Which is why, on the information provided by a rove vampire, that Argent now sat in a very seedy bar, it didn't even have a name, accompanied by a well-dressed drone and Jackson Whittemore. A few wobbly tables away sat one of Jackson's most trusted soldiers, clutching several suspicious packages and looking nervous.

Argent slouched down and nursed his beer. He would have preferred whiskey.

Jackson was twitchy. He shifted long legs, jostling the table and sloshing their drinks.

"Stop that," his Beta instructed. "No one's come yet. Be patient."

Jackson glared at him.

Scott offered them both a cigarette. Both werewolves declined with thinly veiled horror. Imagine messing with one's sense of smell. Such a vampiric affectation.

Some while later, with Argent's beer barely touched but Jackson on his third, the vampire entered the bar.

Ennis made his way straight to the soldier's table and sat down without introduction. The place was loud enough that they only caught every few words.

The exchange moved rapidly and the soldier showed the vampire his collection of goods. The vampire looked them overly carefully and then shook his head. Finally he left.

They immediately surrounded the solder's table.

"What did he say? What are they looking for?"

"The weirdest things. Artifacts."

"What?"

The soldier bit his bottom lip. "Yea. I know there's all of those laws and things, but you know how soldiers get – especially some of the wolves. They don't really pay attention to modern laws and they'll just take artifacts if it strikes their fancy. But the vampire didn't want weapons or objects or anything. He was looking for scrolls."

"Really?"

The soldier nodded. "With some kind of image on it. I think its Egyptian. Something called an ankh. But they want it broken – like cut in half?"

Argent and Scott looked at each other. "Interesting," they both said at the same time.

* * *

Stiles left his husband soundly asleep. After centuries as an immortal, he had forgotten how a mortal body sought slumber when it had injuries to deal with. Despite the excitement, the night was young and most of the manor was awake. Stiles decided to go find Lydia, hoping to find out how long it would be before the electricity came on. It took her some time to track them down. The manor was very large, with a propensity for confusing itself with additional rooms, towers, and gratuitous staircases. After a good hour watching her and a claviger repair, well, _something_ (mechanics wasn't really Stiles's strong area), the lights flickered on in the room.

Finally Stiles drug himself back to the room he was sharing with Derek. He was exhausted by the time he sought his bed. It was not a small bed by any means, her his husband seemed to be occupying the entirety of it. He was sprawled, snoring softly, wrapped every which way in a ragged and much-abused quilt.

Stiles climbed in and shoved him over. He managed to clear enough space to worm his way into before Derek sprawled once more. He supposed Derek had spent years sleeping alone; it would take some time to retrain him.

Derek growled at him slightly but seemed pleased enough to find Stiles next to him one he snuggled against Derek's side. Derek rolled towards Stiles, nuzzled the back of his neck, and wrapped a heavy arm around him.

Stiles tugged hard at the quilt, which would not budge, and settled for arranging Derek's arm around him instead of the blanket. It was nice to be able to sleep touching him for once, with no worries he might cause Derek to age.

And on that note, Stiles drifted off.

He awoke still warm. But his husband's affection, or possibly his hidden murderous tendencies, had shoved Stiles so far toward the edge of the bed that he was partly suspended in midair. Without Derek's arm about his waist, Stiles would probably have fallen off the side. The tshirt he had worn to bed was, of course, gone. How did Derek always manage to do that? Stiles was pleased to note that he had somehow managed to keep his boxers on. The nuzzling on the back of his neck and turned into nibbling.

Stiles cracked an eyelid: it was just about dawn.

Derek's nibbles turned into slightly more insistent bites. He was fond of a bite here or there. He turned his attention towards Stiles's ear. He then moved his arm to better position himself. Unfortunately, Derek did not realize his arm was all that was holding Stiles in the bed.

With an undignified cry, Stiles fell to the floor.

"Stiles?" asked Derek, both confused and slightly worried.

Stiles checked to see that everything was unbroken and then stood, angry. He was about to start yelling, when he realized he was only wearing boxers in a very cold room. The electricity working meant so was the air conditioning. Cursing at his husband, he grabbed the covers off Derek and launched himself at him, burrowing in his warmth.

Seeing as how this put Stiles's almost naked body plastered on top of him, Derek had no objection, although it did make him laugh. Stiles was still annoyed though and that made him twitchy. This did not go well with Derek's bruises from the previous night's fight.

"I am going to find out what is going on with this pack of yours today if it is the last thing I do," Stiles said, swatting at Derek's hand when they attempted to make interesting forays. "The longer I spend in bed, the less time I have to investigate."

"I wasn't planning on being lazy," Derek growled.

Stiles decided that, in the interest of economy, he would have to face the cold or Derek would probably carry on for hours.

"It will have to wait until later," Stiles said, extracting himself from Derek's embrace. In a swift movement, he rolled off of him to one side, spinning the quilt around himself. He shuffled across the floor to get dressed.

Derek had finally gotten up as well and took much less time to get ready for the day. Grabbing Stiles waist as they left the room, he said, "So, I think we should probably figure out exactly why the supernatural isn't working properly here."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but leaned into to him as they made their way down to breakfast.


	12. Chapter 12

That afternoon, Derek and Stiles decided to take a walk through the woods that surrounded the Beacon Hills Pack's manor. Stiles was pretty sure Derek needed some fresh air and to get away from the full house of people. He didn't mind. He kind of wanted away from everyone as well.

They hadn't gotten very far when they came across the Beacon Hills Beta and Gamma having a heated argument in low, angry voices.

"Destroy it all," the Gamma was saying. "We can't continue to live like this."

"Not until we know what it is and why."

The two men spotted Stiles and Derek approaching and fell silent. Stiles was not one to let something go.

"Destroy what? Did you bring something back with you from overseas?" He asked, in what he thought was a rather innocent voice. He was apparently incorrect.

The other werewolves remained quiet, but after a moment and a glare from Derek, the Gamma – Seb, Stiles had learned the night before – finally said, "We picked up a few things while we were there."

Matt growled at him to shut up.

"Not anything illegal, I hope?" said Derek softly, but Stiles ignored him.

"Would you mind letting me see them?"

"Wouldn't want to be bad hosts," came Cora's abrasive voice. She had come up behind them unnoticed, looking severe. Derek, Matt, and Seb all started upon hearing her speak. They were accustomed to having their supernatural sense of smell them when anyone approached, no matter how stealthily.

Cora turned to the Gamma. "Seb, have the clavigers get it all out."

"Are you certain?" he asked.

"We wouldn't want to disappoint our visitors, now, would we?"

They all turned to walk back to the manor. Derek moved to draw his husband back slightly so they could converse in private.

"You believe it's something they brought back?"

Stiles shrugged. "What else could it be?"

"But how would we know which one?"

"You may have to come act like a federal agent on them and simply confiscate it all as illegal imports."

"And then what? Arrest them all?"

Stiles frowned. "I didn't think you'd have to take things so far."

"We can't have these floating around the country. Or worse, in another land where they know what it can do."

When they arrived back at the front of the house, Derek decided to follow after the clavigers who were pulling out the items the pack had brought back from the Middle East. Stiles decided to find coffee.

He found Cora sitting at a table in the kitchen. They made small talk for a moment, before Stiles couldn't hold in his curiosity any longer.

"Did you side with the pack when they betrayed my husband?" he asked in forced casualness.

"He told you about it."

Stiles nodded and sipped his coffee.

"I was just sixteen when he left, away at boarding school. I didn't have a say in the pack's choices."

"And now?"

"Now? I think they were all fools."

Cora sipped out of a mug she had in front of her. "They really did think they were doing what was best for the pack. And none of them actually did the killing. They just didn't tell Derek. They kept Kate's plans a secret from him."

"So you don't think they should be blamed?"

"I'm saying that everyone handled it poorly. They should have told him, no matter what Kate said or what they made them believe. But an Alpha abandoning his pack is extreme. Derek ought to have killed Kate and anyone who actually helped with the fire and restructured. I love this pack and to leave it leaderless and to turn to a _New York_ pack instead is worse than death." Cora leaned forward, eyes fierce.

"I thought he left them Francis?"

"No, I brought Francis back with me. He was an omega I met while in school. He was at a college near my school. I thought I was bringing him home to meet the pack and Derek. Instead I found him gone and the pack in shambles."

"You took on the responsibility of leadership?"

Cora sipped. "Francis was a good husband and a good fighter, but he would have made a better Beta. He took on Alpha for me." She rubbed at her temples. "He was a good man and a good wolf. I won't speak badly about him."

Stiles was impressed with Cora. He knew he couldn't have taken on leadership so young. He was a mess at 16. All flailing limbs and ADD. He couldn't control himself, much less other people.

"And now?"

"Now we're a mess. Francis killed in battle and no one able enough to take Alpha role, let alone be Alpha in truth. And I know Derek won't come back. Marrying you cemented that. We've lost him for good."

Stiles sighed. He wouldn't apologize for marrying Derek. "Regardless, you need to trust him. You should take your concerns to him. He will see reason and he will help you find a solution."

Cora set her mug down with a clatter. "There is only one solution. And he won't do it. I have asked every year for the past decade and time is running out."

"What is that?"

"He needs to change me."

Stiles sat back. "That's so dangerous, though. Aren't the odds of women surviving werewolf metamorphosis pretty bad?"

Cora shrugged. "No one has tried in a long time."

"And you want Derek to do this for you? Risk killing off the last of his living relatives?"

"For me, for the pack. I'm not having any children anyway. He's not going to continue through me. He needs to move on from that."

"You'll likely die," said Stiles. "You've held this pack together as a human."

"And what happens when I die of old age? Better to take the risk now."

Stiles was silent for a moment. "I agree with you, I think."

Cora stopped staring into her coffee and looked up. "Would _you_ talk to him for me?"

"You want me to involve myself? Is that wise? Couldn't you simply go to another pack's Alpha?"

"Never!" Cora definitely had the werewolf pride.

Stiles sighed. "I will discuss it with him, but it is a moot point right now. Derek can't bit you or anyone else right now. Until we find out why this pack is changeless, nothing else can happen."

Cora nodded.

Stiles left her in the kitchen and went back to his room, only to find it ransacked. He wondered if someone had been looking for his briefcase, which was the only actually important thing he had with him. Shoes were thrown everywhere. The bed had been torn apart. Even the mattress was slashed open.

The crisis only got worse when Derek discovered the carnage.

"What the hell?" he roared.

"Does this kind of thing always happen around a pack without an Alpha?" wondered Stiles, nosing about, trying to determine if anything significant was missing.

Derek grunted. "Leaderless packs are a mess."

"I wonder if they were looking for my briefcase. My shah things were in there. You didn't bring anything, did you?" asked Stiles.

Derek said nothing, but when Stiles turned and gave him a look, Derek's face gained a guilty expression. He went to the window, stuck his hand out, and retrieved something hanging outside.

He unwrapped the small package and showed Stiles a small gun.

"It's a Sundowner model," Derek explained.

Stiles took Derek's face in his hands. "You're not here to kill anyone, are you?"

"Simply a precaution."

"When did you start bringing deadly supernatural weapons as a _precaution_?" Stiles wondered.

"Argent had Boyd bring it. He guessed I'd be mortal while I was here and thought I might want the added security."

Stiles let him go and watched as Derek wrapped the package up and rehid it outside the window.

"How easy is that to use?" he asked, innocently as possible.

"Don't even consider it. I got you that bat."

Stiles pouted. "You're no fun. You realize my dad is a cop. I _can_ shoot a gun."

"So," Derek said, deliberately changing the subject, "where did you hide your briefcase?"

Stiles grinned. "In the least likely place."

Derek rolled his eyes, but didn't ask for further details on its location. "What is in it that someone might want?"

"I'm not really sure. Some of my shah stuff, I guess." Stiles shrugged.

Derek was silent for a moment and then he sat on the bed, leaning back against the frame. Stiles sat next to him.

"Derek, have you considered biting Cora?"

Derek stiffened. "How the hell did she persuade you to her side?"

Stiles sighed. "It makes sense and it's a solution to Beacon Hills's problems. She's already acting like an Alpha. Why not make it official?"

"It's not that simple. Her chances of survival—"

"Are very slim. I'm aware."

"Not simply slim – almost non-existent. You are suggesting that I kill my last living family member."

"But if she survived—"

"If." Derek growled.

Stiles tilted his head. "Isn't it her risk to take?"

Derek remained silent.

"You should think about it, as BUR, if nothing else." Stiles paused a moment. "Wait. That was the reason you came back here, wasn't it? The family problem? You intend to fix the pack?"

Derek shrugged.

"You wanted to see how Cora was handling things. Well?"

"There's this plague issue," Derek said.

Stiles grinned. "Well, apart from that. You have to agree I have a point."

Derek turned to him. "I hate it when you're right."

Stiles kissed him softly. "I know. But I'm very good at it."


	13. Chapter 13

After dinner, Cora had the clavigers bring out anything the pack had brought back from their trip overseas. Most it was marketplace junk, but some of it, Stiles could tell, was real and worth a lot, if Derek's head shaking was anything to go by. Derek didn't say anything though. Stiles knew that packs, especially those with older members, didn't really pay attention to some of the more modern laws. Werewolves had been enlisting in the armed services for about as long as the United States had been a country and those who had been deployed more than once, during more than one time period, didn't really keep up with new codes of conduct.

Derek, Stiles was sure, would keep his own pack from importing anything illegal, though. If for nothing else than because he was the head of BUR in their area. Here, though, Derek really only had jurisdiction on the plague issue, not on illegal importation.

The last item was a metal box, about the size of a small child. It was old, but not as old as many of the other items the pack had brought back. Stiles couldn't take his eyes off of it, although it didn't look particularly interesting.

"We're not sure what's in this one," said Cora, pointing to the metal box. "We were going to open it when we got back, but by that time everyone was human and couldn't lift the top. It's heavy. We decided to wait until we had claviger help."

Stiles nodded and found himself moving closer to the box, even without meaning to. He reached out, unaware of his own actions, and touched the box, sliding the top off with no difficulty. It felt light as air. Cora gave him a surprised look. Derek was watching him closely, but nobody else seemed to notice.

Inside was a body. It was curled into a fetal position. The body looked much older than the box it lay in, as if had been put in there purposefully. There were tufts of hair and a beard on its preserved head. It didn't look like any Egyptian mummy Stiles had ever seen, but it was very similar.

He reached out to touch the skull.

Derek quickly grabbed his hand. "Stiles," he barked. "Stop."

Stiles couldn't figure out why he was so drawn to the mummy, but he couldn't look away. Derek practically dragged him out of the room to get him away.

Derek left him in the living room and went to the kitchen to get Stiles some water. Stiles was still thinking about the mummy.

His thoughts were interrupted by Derek's very loud yell, which came from the kitchen. It was not one of his angry yells, either. Stiles would hardly have noticed one of those. No, this sounded like pain.

Stiles rushed out of the room and sprinted towards the kitchen.

He crashed into the kitchen door, which refused to budge. Something heavy was blocking it. He heaved against it desperately, finally shoving it open far enough to realize it was Derek's fallen boy that blocked his entrance.

Stiles bent over him, checking for injuries. He could find none on his back, but noticed that Stiles's baseball bat weapon was lying to Derek's side, as if he had been carrying it. Stiles wondered if he had gone up to their room to get it.

Derek was breathing slowly and laboriously, as though drugged.

Stiles frowned suspiciously at his bat. It emitted a numbing agent. How difficult would it be for someone to take it away and use it against Derek?

Stiles looked around the room, only to notice red hair peeking out from a corner of the cabinets. He rushed over to find Lydia also unconscious, although Stiles had not heard her cry out.

Stiles was worried.

He ran to the door and his scream echoed throughout the manor. "Boyd, you lazy asshole!" Such terminology was Derek's idea of a secret code. It meant the claviger should come quickly and armed.

Boyd muscled his way into the room and bent over Derek, reaching to check his pulse.

"He is alive, but barely," said the claviger.

Cora walked in. "What happened?"

"He was hit with some kind of poisoned dart, I think," answered Boyd, uncovering a small puncture wound in Derek's shoulder.

Stiles motioned for Boyd to pick Derek up and he carried the large man up the stairs to the room Derek and Stiles shared. Stiles half carried, half dragged Lydia behind. He refused to call anyone else for help.

"Please stay in here and watch him. I'm not sure who I trust here right now," said Stiles, as Boyd laid Derek out on the bed, next to where Stiles had put Lydia.

Stiles then shimmied through the window, trying to reach out to get Derek's gun from the hiding place outside the window. He handed the gun to Boyd.

"Do you know what this is?"

Boyd nodded. "The Sundowner. But why would I need it? There are no vampires here, or werewolves for that matter. Not with the way things currently are."

"They're not going to be like this for much longer, if I have anything to say about it," said Stiles determinedly. "Poison does not work on a werewolf and I intend to see Derek awake sooner than it would take that stuff to kill a human. Besides, the gun will work on non-supes just fine. Are you authorized to use it?"

Boyd shook his head.

"Well, you are now."

Boyd almost argued the point. Sundowner was a BUR position. Technically, the shah had no say in the matter or ability to authorize people. But Stiles looked angry and even Boyd wasn't about to interfere now.

"No one is to come in or out of the room. _No one_, Boyd. No staff, no pack, no claviger, not even Erica."

Boyd nodded.

Stiles went straight to Erica's room and got his briefcase. He walked out of her room and right into Cora.

"Cora, no one is to go into mine and Derek's room, including yourself. I have left Boy armed and with instructions to fire on anyone who attempts to enter."

"By what authority?" Cora looked upset. "Derek's?"

"Derek is indisposed at the moment. This is no longer a BUR matter." Stiles looked resolved. "I have taken it under my own jurisdiction. I've tolerated your crap long enough. I was this plague lifted and I want it lifted now."

"Why should we do what you say?" asked Matt.

Stiles pulled out identification and shoved it under the Beta's nose.

Cora grabbed it and held it up to her face. She passed it to Seb, who looked the least surprised by the information.

"I take it you were not informed of my appointment?"

Cora gave him a hard look. "I take it you didn't marry Derek purely for love?"

Stiles glared. "I had this position before we were even engaged. I was recommended for it before we were dating – hell, before I even liked Derek."

"Shah has been vacant for generations. Why you? Why now?" Matt was looking less angry and more thoughtful than Stiles had seen him.

Stiles shrugged. "I take it you accept my ID as authentic?"

Cora nodded. "We will accept it and defer to your authority for this." She gestured to the closed door. "For the time being," she added, so as not to lose face.

"Okay. If you have moved any of the things you brought back from the room they were in earlier, please put them back. I need to make sure I understand what is causing this. If I cannot, we are going to need to move Derek to LA, where he should return to supernatural and recover."

While they checked on that, Stiles tried to call Laura. Unfortunately, cell phone signal was terrible and the pack had no land line.

After trying a number of times to ask Laura about a humanization weapon from Egypt, the best response Stiles could get was "Preternaturals are always cremated." Stiles wondered what Laura meant by that.

He went back to the room with all the artifacts. He tried to avoid looking at the mummy. He didn't want to get distracted again. He sent the pack outside of the room so only he and Cora remained.

None of the items seemed in anyway significant, though.

Finally, Stiles had no choice but to look at the mummy again. He stared at the withered brown skin, shrunken down to hug old bones. Its mouth was slightly open, bottom teeth visible, gray and worn. She could even see its eyelids, half-lidded, over the empty eye sockets. Its arms were crossed over its legs, pulling them in front of its chest, looking as it was trying to keep itself from spilling out.

"Of course," Stiles gasped. "How could I have been so blind?"

Cora looked at him curiously.

"I have been thinking that it was an ancient weapon, and Derek thought it was a plague, but it was just _this_. This mummy."

"What?" asked Cora. "I looked this up online once you opened it. I think it might be one of the Saltmen mummies from Iran. I'm not sure how it got in the box, but it's not particularly valuable. It's really only good for anthropological purposes."

Resisting the urge to touch the thing, Stiles looked closer at the box. On it was an ankh, broken in half.

"This is not a symbol of death. It wouldn't make sense for this to be in Iran, anyway. It's Egyptian. That's the name – or maybe title – of what was in the box. The ankh is the symbol for eternal life and here it is broken. Only one thing can end eternal life."

Cora looked shocked. "A curse-breaker."

Stiles nodded. "Do you know any more about preternaturals?" Stiles missed Argent. He would know this. He was probably who told Laura.

"Seb is the oldest. If anyone knows, he would."

Stiles nodded and hurried out to find him. He was talking with Allison.

"Seb, what happens when we die?"

Stiles got a blank stare. "Is this the time for a philosophical discussion?"

He shook his head, impatient. "No, not us here. I mean, preternaturals. What happens to preternaturals?"

Seb frowned. "I don't know. I haven't known many. They are very rare."

Stiles bit his lip. Laura said preternaturals were cremated. What would happen if they were not? Ghosts showed that life was tethered to the body – the ghost could be preserved by preserving the body. Perhaps effervescence was the same way – he did give supernaturals more life through touch. He gasped slightly. The implications were endless. The dead bodies of effervescent could be turned into weapons against supernaturals.

"Maybe death expands effervescence. A ghost can move outward from its body after death, why not an effervescent touch?" Stiles looked at them both. "It would explain the mass exorcism within a specific area."

"And the fact that the pack cannot change." Cora was nodding.

"Mass curse-breaking." Seb frowned.

Boyd opened the door to Stiles and Derek's bedroom and yelled. "Lydia is awake."

Stiles knew he should go up there.

"This information is dangerous." Both Cora and Seb nodded. "Do not tell the rest of your pack," Stiles commanded before he went upstairs, not realizing that Allison still stood nearby.


	14. Chapter 14

Boyd was bent over the inventor, helping her sit upright, when Stiles entered. Lydia looked groggy, but her eyes were open. They focused on Stiles when he walked in and she gave him a slow smile.

"Has Derek's condition changed as well?" Stiles asked immediately. He went over to Derek, lightly touching his face. It was scruffy. He _told_ Derek to shave this morning.

His answer came, not from Boyd, but from Lydia. Her voice was dry and a little croaky.

"He won't wake up for awhile. He was hit in his left shoulder, right over his heart. It's a lot more dangerous. I just got nicked by a dart, so I didn't get much in my system." She showed Stiles a small cut on her arm.

Stiles went over to her. "What was it, Lydia? What happened? Who shot you?" His voice became very cold. "Who shot my husband?"

Lydia swallowed hard. "Please do not be angry with her, Stiles. She doesn't do it intentionally. I know she doesn't. She has a good heart under it all. I know she does." Lydia was looking down into her lap now, instead of at Stiles. "I caught her earlier looking through your room. I think she was trying to find your phone to keep you for calling Laura Hale for help. And then I heard her on the phone right before she shot Derek and me. He yelled loud enough to scare her and force her to run off, though."

"Who was Allison working for? The vampires?"

Lydia nodded.

Stiles swore. "I suspected she was a spy, but I didn't think they'd have her do anything but collect information." Stiles paused. "What is she after? Why has she been doing this?"

Lydia gave a small shrug. "I can only guess the same thing as you – the humanization weapon."

Stiles swore again. "And of course, she was right there when I figured it out."

Lydia's eyes went wide. Boyd looked impressed. "You figured it out?"

"Of course I did." Stiles sometimes thought Boyd had a low opinion of his deductive skills. Turning to leave the room, he said, "Boyd, my orders still stand."

"I do not think she wants to kill anyone but me," Lydia pleaded after him. "I really don't. Please don't do anything drastic."

Stiles whirled around and bared his teeth, looking for all the world like a bit of a werewolf himself. "She shot my husband."

Outside, where the Beacon Hills Pack should have still stood, was only silence. Silence and a pile of large, sleeping bodies.

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed. Really, must he do everything himself?

Gripping his baseball bat, he held his finger ready to shoot the numbing dart. He figured Allison would be trying to get the mummy into a car and back to the vampires. When he went into the room where the mummy was held, though, he found the mummy still there and Allison nowhere to be found.

Then he realized, a vampire spy's top priority would be information. It was what vampires valued most.

He thought for a moment. Cell phone signal was terrible in the place. He thought maybe the top floors would have the best luck and he went upstairs, listening for noise.

The moment he saw Allison, he activated the magnetic disruptor on the bat, cutting off her cell phone call. He wasn't sure how much of the information she had relayed. He advanced towards Allison, but she pushed past him and Stiles fell against the wall, landing hard on his side.

Now, he was convinced, she would be after the mummy.

This time he was correct.

"Allison, stop!" He yelled.

Stiles saw her trying to attach some kind of rope around the box, so she could drag it away. Stiles took aim, trying to hit Allison was a numbing dart. It hit the box instead. Allison was already starting to drag the box from the room. She was much stronger than Stiles had given her credit for.

Stiles caught up to her, his bat at the ready. She didn't look like she was going to go down without a fight, so Stiles simply swung with his bat, right at her head. It wasn't pleasant, but Allison was immediately knocked unconscious.

He checked Allison's breathing to make sure the spy was still alive. She was.

The best thing to do, Stiles decided, was eliminate the mummy. Everything else could be dealt with after that.

Lydia hadn't designed the bat to emit anything particularly toxic to preternaturals, but Stiles was pretty sure enough acid could destroy just about anything.

Ignoring the instinct drawing him towards the mummy, he pointed the bat down into the box. He twisted the knob and grip in different directions and a hole appeared in the end cap, a different one from where the numbing darts appeared, and a mist sprayed out. He swung it back and forth over the whole body until the entire thing turned into a lumpy puddle of brown mush. It was no longer recognizable as human.

Somewhere above them, Erica screamed.

* * *

On the other side of the country, a hired, unmarked car sat outside a nice, if unremarkable, residence in Manhattan. Agent Chris Argent and Major Jackson Whittemore sat and waited inside. It was a dangerous place for two werewolves to be, just outside the Manhattan Hive. Doubly dangerous in that they were not there in any official capacity. If this got back to BUR, Argent was sure he would be out of a job.

They both practically jumped out of their skins when the door crashed open and a body tumbled inside.

"Drive!"

Jackson slammed his foot on the gash and the car jumped forward. The tires emitted a shockingly loud squeal in the night air.

"Well?" questioned Jackson, impatient.

Argent reached down to help the young man sit up. "So how did it go?"

"They may or may not have had some problems with cell phone reception this evening. I'm not so sure most of them notice, but if they were waiting for something, well… they'll be waiting a bit longer."

Scott grinned at them.

* * *

This was not one of Erica's screams of delight. Or screams of pleasure (one of the perks of being married and not sharing an apartment with Erica any longer was that he no longer had to hear _those_ particular screams). This was a scream of real terror.

Boyd and a wobbly Lydia also emerged because of the scream, despite Stiles's orders to the contrary. They immediately came downstairs next to Stiles.

"Allison, no!"

Allison stood behind Erica, with a knife held at Erica's throat. Everyone charged toward her.

"Stay back or she will die," said Allison, hand steady and eyes hard.

"Allison, this is crazy," tried Stiles. "I've destroyed the evidence. Soon the pack will awake and be recovered. Whatever drug you gave them won't last long once they're supernatural again. It won't be long now. You can't escape."

"Then I have nothing to lose, right?" Allison dragged Erica up the stairs.

As soon as she was out of sight, Stiles and Boyd dashed up the stairs after her.

"I need her alive," Stiles panted at Boyd. "I have questions."

They found the room Allison had disappeared into. She was directing Erica to open the window. Stiles regretted his lack of baseball bat. He was going to have to chain the thing to his side. Every time he didn't have it, he wished he did. Before Allison caught sight of him, Boyd ducked down and to one side, using the various furniture around the room to shield himself from view.

While he approached in secret, making his way cautiously around the room, Stiles tried to distract Allison. It was not easy; Boyd was not easy to miss.

"Allison," Stiles called.

Allison turned, jerking roughly at Erica with her free hand, the other still clutching the knife at Erica's neck. "Hurry up," she growled at Erica. "You" – she jerked her head at Stiles – "stay back and let me see your hands."

Stiles waved his empty hands and Allison nodded, clearly pleased by the lack of weapons.

"Why, Allison?" Stiles asked, genuinely curious, not to mention eager to keep her attention.

"Because she asked me to. Because she promised she would try."

"She. _She_ who?"

"Who do you think?" Allison practically snapped back.

A soft voice spoke from Stiles's side. "Morrell."

Stiles frowned and bit at his lip, confused. He continued to speak to Allison, only half acknowledging the inventor's presence. "But I thought your former master was a rove. I thought you were at the Manhattan Hive under sufferance."

Allison prodded at Erica again, this time using the tip of the knife. Erica squeaked and managed to push the window up.

"You think too much," sneered Allison.

Boyd, having finally made his way around the room, sprang forward, launching himself at Allison. Erica threw herself to the right once she saw Boyd jump towards them.

Allison reeled around, brandishing the knife.

Boyd and Allison grappled. Allison struck out with the knife, but Boyd deflected with his shoulder. A bloody gash appeared.

Boyd was unsurprisingly stronger than Allison. He came out of a crouch, twisting to push his uninjured shoulder to Allison's gut. With a scream of anger, the woman fell out the window. This was probably not quite what she had originally intended upon opening it, if the rope ladder on the floor was any indication. She let forth a high pitched scream before a loud crunch resonated up to the window.

Lydia screamed herself and clutched Stiles to hold herself up.

Stiles was trying very hard not to think about the likely dead body outside the manor. Boyd looked incredibly pale.

Suddenly a stampeding sound came from outside the room.

The members of the Beacon Hills Pack appeared around the doorway. The fact that they were up indicated that the mummy must have completely dissolved.

"Move," growled a voice from behind them. Just as quickly as they appeared, they moved, and Derek strode into the room.

"Oh good," said Stiles. "You're awake. What took so long?"

"Hello, dear. What have you done now?" Derek sighed heavily, but didn't seem quite as annoyed as his tone implied, even if he only ever called Stiles "dear" when he was aggravated. He mostly looked relieved to find Stiles in one piece.

"Stop insulting me right now. Can you check on Boyd? I need to go see to Allison." Stiles ordered. Derek didn't question him.

"You've stopped her, I take it?"

"Well, Boyd pushed her out a window."

Derek looked contemplative for a moment. "Are you hoping for dead or alive?"

"Well, dead would be less paperwork." Stiles made jokes when situations were bad. That didn't necessarily mean they were good jokes. Lydia was glaring. Stiles was mostly trying to keep from freaking out.

Derek waved a hand. "Carry on."

"Oh really, Derek. As if it were your idea," said Stiles, already resolutely walking out of the room to see to his injured and possibly (probably) dead assistant.

"And I chose to marry that one," commented his husband to the gathered werewolves in resigned affection.

"I heard that," should Stiles without pausing.

He made his way back down the stairs and outside.

He crouched near Allison's body, but he was pretty sure there was no hope. Her neck was twisted at weird angle and Stiles was sure it had been broken in the fall.

Stiles stood and made to go back inside when the air around the body shivered. Before Stiles appeared the shimmering form of his dead assistant.

"You might have survived Morrell's bite in the end."

The ghost looked at him for a long time.

"I always knew I could have been something more," replied Formerly Allison. "But you had to stop me. They told me you were dangerous. I thought it was because they feared you, feared what you were and what you could produce. But now I realize they feared who you are as well. You are not only preternatural, you think differently."

"Maybe," replied Stiles. "It's hard to know, having only ever experienced my own thoughts."

The ghost looked at Stiles. "Will you be preserving my body, letting me go mad, or will you exorcise me now?"

"Which would you prefer?" asked Stiles.

"Now, I think."

Stiles nodded. "And if I exorcise you, what will you give me in return?"

Formerly Allison sighed, although she no longer had lungs with which to sigh or air with which to emit sound. Stiles wondered how ghosts actually managed to talk.

"You're curious. I understand that. I will answer five questions as honestly as I can."

Stiles nodded again. "Why did you do all this?"

Formerly Allison held up 5 fingers and ticked down one. "Because she offered me the bite. Who does not want eternal life?" A pause. "Besides Lydia, of course."

"Why were you and Lydia arguing?"

"You waste your question on Lydia? She has something of mine. She insisted on giving it back or telling the world."

"What could be so horrible?"

"It would have ruined my life. Morrell insists no family. She will not bite to change if there is children – part of vampire edict. A lesser regulation, but after seeing how Cora complicates your husband's life, I understand the rule."

"Liam? He is your child? Not hers?"

"A mistake that no longer matters." Another finger down. Two questions left.

"Lydia was tracking you, not me! Was she blackmailing you?"

"Yes. Either I take up my maternal duty or she'd tell Morrell. I could not have that, you understand? When I had worked so hard for immortality."

"You were together?"

"What a waste of your last question, but yes." Allison did not elaborate and Stiles did not ask any more questions. He knew it would be a waste. A bargain was a bargain.

He reached forward, albeit reluctantly, to perform his very first exorcism. He simply laid his hand upon Allison's broken body. As quick as that, the ghostly form disappeared.


	15. Chapter 15

Derek checked the hall. It was empty, the pack having gone downstairs or to collect Allison's body. Seeing no one around to stop him, the Alpha slammed his husband up against the wall, pressing the full length of their bodies together.

"Ooomph," said Stiles. "Not now."

Derek nuzzled in at his neck, kissing and licking him softly just below his ear. "Just a moment," Derek said. "I need a small reminder that you are here, you are whole, and you are mine."

"Well the first two are very obvious and I should hope you never question the third," replied Stiles. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and pressed against him.

Derek resorted, as always, to action over words and sealed their lips together.

Not but a few moments passed until they were interrupted by Stiles's phone. He had heard it so few times in the isolated manor house that it took him a minute to realize what it was.

He answered, warding off Derek's grumbling with a pat to the arm, and then began smiling ecstatically.

"What do you look so happy about?" asked Derek.

"Laura called. I couldn't hear everything. The signal really is _terrible_ here, but it seems that Scott and Argent messed with something over at the hive tonight. They weren't able to receive any calls! So when Allison tried to call them, she wouldn't have gotten through!"

Derek seemed a lot less concerned with Allison calling a hive and a lot more concerned with his Beta. "Argent was working _with_ Laura?"

Stiles patted his arm again. "Well, he's a lot more practical than you are."

"Clearly," Derek frowned darkly. "Does anyone else know?"

"About the mummy?" Stiles paused. "Just Cora and Seb. Possibly Laura and Argent."

Derek nodded and grabbed Stiles hand as they made their way back downstairs.

* * *

"Erica and Body have eloped."

After the general chaos of the night before, everyone had gone to sleep early. Those still affected by Allison's drug were carried up by the pack. Then most of them had slept the day away.

"What?" barked Derek, genuinely surprised, and possibly a little angry.

Stiles was surprised, but probably more surprised by Derek's response.

"She left a note," said one of the Beacon Hills clavigers. He held it up for Stiles to read.

Stiles scanned it quickly and while he didn't understand why Erica felt the need to elope and leave a note, he didn't see any problem with it. Derek, on the other hand, did.

"I told them. I told them both. Dammit. I've lost my best claviger."

"What?"

"I don't change people with family – spouses or children. It's an edict of both vampire and werewolf law. It's newer. Obviously it wasn't around when I was changed, but it has become actual law since then. I can't go around breaking it."

Stiles nodded. "Wait, they knew about it?"

"When they started dating, I sat Erica down and explained it to her. And she works for BUR. She should know it from there too. Boyd already knew the rule. He's been a claviger with me for long enough."

"She didn't tell me?" Stiles was a little annoyed.

Derek shrugged. "I explained the consequences to them. I didn't say who they had to tell."

Stiles finished eating breakfast in silence. He was happy for Erica and Boyd, but he knew Derek was at least slightly upset. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond. Finally, he decided to change the subject.

"Derek, we're leaving soon?"

Derek nodded.

"Don't you think it's time you bit Cora?"

The pack was immediately in an uproar, everyone talking at once.

"You can't change a woman. It hasn't happened in centuries," objected Matt.

"She's the only Alpha we've got left," added Seb.

Cora did not say anything, looking pale but resolute.

Stiles grabbed Derek's arm and turned him to face him. "You need to do this, regardless of your werewolf pride. You married me for my good sense, remember."

He grumbled, but did not turn away. "I married you for your body and to stop that mouth of yours. Look where that's got me."

"Gee, Derek. You're so sweet." Stiles rolled his eyes and kissed him lightly.

Ignoring the rest of the pack, Stiles turned directly to Cora. "Good news, my husband has decided to change you."

Derek made his way over to where Cora sat, still and straight in her chair at the head of the table. "You certain about this? You know it is probably death facing you?"

"We need an Alpha." She looked at him. "Beacon Hill cannot survive much longer without one. I'm the only option we have left and at least I'm a Hale. You owe the pack."

Derek's voice was a low rumble. "I don't owe the pack anything. But you, you're the last of my line. And it's time I took your wishes into consideration."

Cora sighed softly, "Finally."

Derek nodded once more. Then he changed. Not entirely. There was no full breaking of bone, no complete melting of one form to the next, and no growing of fur – except for his head. His nose elongated, his ears expanded upwards, and his eyes shifted from green to red. The rest of him remained human.

Then Derek proceeded to eat his great-great-great-granddaughter.

There was really no other way of putting it.

Stiles watched in horror as his husband, wearing the head of a wolf, began to bite down on Cora's neck and then kept on chomping. Cora flailed against the full bite. Instinct would not deny such a reaction. She clawed and hit at Derek, but he remained unmoved and unhurt, his werewolf strength easily outmatching her pathetic human struggles.

Then, entirely unexpectedly, Stiles fainted.

* * *

Stiles blinked awake to Derek's worried, looming face. "Derek," he said, "don't take this the wrong way, but that may have been the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life."

Derek chuckled.

"Well?" Stiles levered himself up slightly and glanced around. "Did it work? Is she going to survive?"

Derek sat back. "A remarkable thing, a full Alpha female. Rare. The only one I ever met was my mother. There have been very few in history."

"Derek!"

The head of a wolf came into Stiles's line of vision. It was not one he was personally familiar with: small, but with dark black fur. The wolf's neck was covered in blood.

Cora Hale lolled a tongue out at Stiles. Stiles wondered how the wolf would respond to a scratch about the ears, but decided not to risk it.

Stiles looked at Derek. "I take it it worked?"

He grinned. "My first successful change in years, and a female Alpha at that."

"Someone's proud of himself."

He looked momentarily somber again. "Except that I should have remembered how distressing it is for outsiders. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You're fine. Don't worry about it."

"You fainted!"

"Whatever," replied Stiles. "I never faint."

"There was that one time. At the party, when you killed the vampire."

"I was faking and you knew it."

"How about that time we visited the museum after hours and I trapped you in a corner behind those statues?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "_That_ was an entirely different kind of passing out."

Derek grinned wickedly. "My point is that you actually, positively, did faint. I just wanted to apologize."

Stiles waived him off. He didn't want to look weak.

After Stiles had recovered, they gathered their things and they, along with Lydia, departed Beacon Hills.


	16. Chapter 16

This is the epilogue and lead in the for the next story - Innocent. I posted the end of the story (Chapter 15) just a minute ago. If you haven't read it, please do so first!

* * *

**Epilogue**

They arrived back at Newark Manor to find the place in an uproar. The cause of this seemed to be a two year old calmly sitting in one of the house's many living rooms.

When they arrived, Argent immediately handed an envelope to Stiles, but before he could open it Derek started snarling.

He was looking between the child and Stiles as if he couldn't decide who to go after first.

"Is that why you're always visiting her? Of everyone, you were the last two I thought would betray me. Out! Out!"

Stiles had never seen Derek this angry and he had no clue what was going on. Derek was trying to push him towards the door, but he started snarling at the child as well, so Stiles grabbed the boy on his way out. He couldn't leave a child alone with whatever was going on with Derek. The only person who would think to protect the child was Argent, who would have his hands full dealing with Derek.

"If you didn't want me, you should have told me long before now, Stiles," snarled Derek. "You didn't have to go and sleep with my sister."

The door slammed in his face.

Stiles had never been more confused in his life. He hadn't slept with anyone else since long before dating Derek. He'd only been on a date with one person since he and Derek had started their little dance years ago and that was mostly to make Derek jealous. This child couldn't be his. He didn't know why Derek thought so, or who the hell Derek's sister was. For that matter, Derek had a sister?

He couldn't go back in there now, though. He was sure Derek wouldn't actually hurt him. The child, whoever he was, on the other hand, had no such guarantees.

So, Stiles got in his car and drove to his father's house. If anyone would know what to do, hopefully his dad would.

* * *

To be continued in Innocent - now posted! Please be on the lookout or subscribe to me for updates! I hope you have enjoyed the series so far!


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